


Secrets of Trenwith

by xenia_che



Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cheating, Detective Verity Poldark, Dwight is a good friend, F/F, F/M, Little town and its secrets, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, SpringFRE2019, Stranger comes to town, some things are NOT what they seem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-01-16 10:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenia_che/pseuds/xenia_che
Summary: Trenwith is a little town in Cornwall where everyone knows everyone. It's quiet, peaceful and very cheerful. Especially since there is a huge wedding coming soon, a ceremony to bind together two loving hearts of Elizabeth and Ross. Everything is perfect, until one day a stranger comes to town. And then everything goes to hell.Prompt 122: “Don’t you trust me?”Prompt 144: Happily Ever After. Or not?…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lerratheone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lerratheone/gifts).



> This story wrote itself, seriously. I just got this silly idea and opened my google docs to write it down and then - boom! - three hours later I got myself a prologue and the first chapter out of nowhere. And now it's almost complete, I have two more chapters to write and then it's done. 
> 
> I really hope you, guys, like this story, it is so much fun to write!  
> It's undeta-ed though, but I do want to get it checked one day.
> 
> And, of course, it's a gift for my beloved Lerra, who is my number one reader, my muse and a fantastic friend. Without you, my dearest, I'd never write a single sentence, I'm sure <3

**Prologue**

What if everything happened not the way we thought it did? What if Jim was not kind or respectful or even just nice? What if he was the bad guy in this story, the one who knew exactly which strings to pull and which buttons to press to get any man (or woman) to do precisely what he wanted?

And just so happened that he wanted Ross.

Ross, who was getting married to a woman of his dreams, preparing to start a life he was expected to ever since he was a child? What then?

Oh, you don’t know what is it all about? Haven’t you read the papers? It was all over the news. This town is small enough for the story like that to shake its foundations. Oh, our knitting club now has such a strong reason for gossips that it will last them till the day they die.

But well, since you obviously don’t know this story, let me tell it from the beginning then.

And it started somewhat like that.

_Poldark-Chynoweth_

_Mr. and Mrs.Chynoweth of Trenwith, Cornwall are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Elizabeth Chynoweth to Ross Poldark, son of Joshua and Grace Poldark, the Master of Nampara House. The August wedding is planned._

This announcement appeared in _The First Light Chronicles_ on one Sunday morning in late April. The weather was unusually warm for that time of year, sun pouring through windows and open doors, birds singing and the ocean being calmer than expected. And altogether is was a fine morning for such wonderful announcement. The news on itself wasn’t exactly unexpected, on the contrary, towns folk was surprised it took those two so long to finally decide to tie the knot.

Ross and Liz (only her parents actually called her Elizabeth) were the golden couple of Trenwith. Both tall, beautiful and very well built, they made quite a sight whenever they made the appearance on the town streets together. There was this one time when a traveling photographer was passing through our lands and he actually took a break from his busy schedule to held a photo shoot of those two. _The Chronicles_ couldn’t let it go for another two weeks at least.

Another reason for Ross and Liz to hurry up with their engagement was, of course, the Nampara House. You see, the announcement said _the Master of Nampara House_ , which is technically not exactly true. Ross would become the Master of Nampara House on the day he actually gets married. That was the only condition of his late father Joshua, stated in his will (don’t ask how I know that, it’s just the way things are in a town like ours). Once Ross takes a wife he could do whatever he wants with Nampara, the land around it and the whole hotel empire that was in Poldark family for generations, but until then Ross is just looking after the property without being able to change the way it’s run.

So, the fact that it took Ross another two years after his parents tragical accident to propose to Liz was quite surprising. But well, what’s done is done and now the whole town was in anticipation of the grand event. Chynoweths were wealthy, Ross was even wealthier, and the town was overloaded with orders (for florists, caterers, pastry chefs, tailors and decorators) and job offers (for waiters, DJs, cleaners and, of course, dancing teachers).

The preparations were in full swing and everyone in town was busy either actually doing something useful or just gossiping about the upcoming party. So, no wonder that nobody really paid attention to the Festival of Beltane (the day that is too pagan for our town to be an official holiday, but we do like to celebrate things and normally there are a lot of fun and treats on the 1st of May). As we later found out, we should’ve been more careful, of course.

Because that was the day _he_ came to town.

The previous day was not just dready, it was pouring rain like we haven’t seen in quite a while. The clouds were hanging so low, little Maddy Boscowan actually asked her grandpa, old Karadok, who works afield, if she could have some gray-blue clouds for dessert instead of blueberry ice cream. Cute little minx.

Anyway, the day before Beltane was simply dreadful and the night was even worse, so when _he_ entered the town on the early morning of May, there was no one on the streets to greet him.

Some people say we should’ve known. The clouds, the rain, the thunder, the storm (though that one happened in the ocean and didn’t really affect Trenwith): it was all the God’s way to warn us or something. But it’s easy to judge with hindsight. Back then all our heads were full of the wedding talk, and don’t forget, everyone still had their own problems to deal with. So yes, we absolutely missed _him._ And not just missed, we actually continued _not_ paying _him_ any attention until it was, well, too late.

Then the murder happened, and everyone found out about Francis, and the medallion was discovered, then Grace Poldark came back from the dead (or so we thought), and don’t forget about Ross, of course, and the wedding… Oh my God, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself again, aren’t I? Well, it’s easy to get carried away.

Let’s try anew.

Our story actually, truly beings on the early morning of the 1st of May 2015. And it goes something like this.

 

**Chapter 1**

Ross woke up to the sound of raindrops beating against bedroom windows. It was almost dark outside despite the fact that the clock on the bedside table said quarter to ten. Ross rearly let himself stay in bed so late, but today, on this lazy Saturday morning after a long working week, Ross really didn’t want to crawl out from under the warm blankets.

Liz was sweetly wheezing next to him, her gorgeous brown hair gathered in a loose braid (Ross hated waking up with his mouth stuffed with her hair, so that was the compromise they were able to reach four years ago when they’ve finally moved in together right after coming back from the university) and her soft hands folded under the pillow.

Ross studied her relaxed face for a few minutes, propped on one elbow, small smile playing on his lips. He couldn’t help himself: he freed his other hand from the blanket and lightly touched her small ear with the tips of his fingers. Liz sighed deeply and turned on her back without waking up. Her right hand moved to lie on her stomach, and Ross’ face immediately darkened.

The ring. His grandmother’s ring, old and silver, with intricate ornament, four beryls and seven diamonds (six tiny ones and one big flashy thing in the middle) rested on Liz’ ring finger drawing Ross attention.

He loved her, he truly did. They’ve been together since fifth grade, when nasty Mrs Uglow assigned them together to one math project (as a punishment, of course), and little Liz offered little Ross to use her gorgeous glittery pink pen with a fluffy tail because he lost his pencil. Their relationship survived puberty, university and dorm life, that time Liz thought she was in love with a girl and that time Ross thought he was in love with a boy. They grew stronger after the accident that took Ross’ parents and the disappearance of Liz’ twin sister Meredith. Liz was his best friend, his family and the most amazing woman he has ever met.

So the reason, why the engagement ring on her finger made Ross want to throw something big and glass at the wall (and oh, he could just see how beautifully it would shattered into tiniest pieces with a loud bang) was unknown to Ross himself.

The phone, that was lying at the bedside table vibrated a few times in a row, informing Ross of a string of incoming messages. He hurriedly grabbed it so it wouldn’t wake Liz up, and swiped the screen with his finger.

 **Dwight:** _test results came back_

 **Dwight:** _u should come over asap_

 **Dwight:** _alone_

 **Dwight:** _damn now u’ll think its bad news_

 **Dwight:** _im not sayin its bad news_

 **Dwight:** _might be_

 **Dwight:** _come over_

Ross sighed heavily, quickly typed the response and got out of bed, wincing when his bare feet touched cold wooden floor. They had a very warm and sunny April but judging from the howling of the wind coming from outside, May was going to be a different story entirely.

* * *

Originally Nampara House belonged to Nampara Town just a few miles away from Trenwith, but since that once beautiful and peaceful place went to pot over a hundred years ago and quickly turned into ruins, Ross’ great grandfather pulled some strings and now Nampara House was under jurisdiction on Trenwith, which suited Ross just fine. Still, it usually took about an hour to get from Nampara to Dwight’s office that was located on the other side of Trenwith, furthest from the shore.

Ross slowly drove through the town, his sight impeded by the pouring rain (which obviously wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon). He was trying to stay focused on the slippery road but his thoughts kept getting back to Dwight’s messages.

Dwight Enys was the doctor with the private practice which he inherited from his father who was the town’s doctor before him (like his father before him). The closest hospital was ten miles up the coast, and town people avoided going there at all costs, which meant that Dwight always had something to do.

Dwight was Ross’ second best friend and future best man at his upcoming wedding. So naturally, when Ross faced some rather unexpected health problems, Dwight was the first person he contacted. Now, three weeks later the results of some not exactly pleasant tests were back and, if Ross was being honest, it scared the hell out of him.

The road took a sharp turn right, and the next moment Ross was forced to slam on the breaks because a person appeared in front of his car out of nowhere. It was still raining heavily so the jeep couldn’t just stop at once and drifted a few feet with blocked wheels. Ross knuckles turned white where he was clutching the steering wheel, and he bit his lip unconsciously, trying to contain the adrenaline rush in his veins.

The car finally came to a halt mere inches  from the cause of such erratic behavior, and Ross heaved a sigh of relief, his head spinning and his hands trembling. Finally, after a moment or two of panting and staring into vacancy, Ross lifted his eyes and was surprised to see that the person whom he almost ran over was still standing in front of the jeep. Ross couldn’t distinguish any details through the heavy veil of rain, he saw just a dark figure in something that looked like a cloak though only thigh-high with big hood, that was covering person’s head and shadowing their face. Ross frowned unsure of who that might be (Trenwith was a very small town where everyone knew everyone, and Ross was pretty sure that the outline of this person was not familiar to him). The figure moved, as if bowing their head in greeting, making Ross’ frown deepen.

They stayed like this for a few moments, that felt like eternity: Ross with his heart in his throat and the figure before his jeep with their head slightly bowed.

Suddenly, a loud bang broke the silence - it was half-muffled by the rain, but to Ross it sounded exactly like a gunshot. He moved instinctively trying to identify the direction where the sound was coming from, and when he turned back, the road before him was empty, as was the whole street in both directions that he could see from his seat.

Ross shook his head and, taking a deep breath, started the engine. Despite all his trouble, it was rude to make Dwight wait.

* * *

“Ah, I was afraid you’d miss me.” said Dwight skipping the greeting, when Ross stumbled into his waiting room, with his hair wet and still a little shaky. “I’m on my way out.”

Dwight was dressed in a dark blue parka with furless hood and heavy working boots, his brown hair stylishly brushed back and blue eyes sparkling with usual mischief. He had his surgeons chest in one hand and a huge folded umbrella in the other.

“I thought you said _asap_.” whined Ross, feeling frustrated and suddenly very tired. “I barely slept since you took the tests. Mate, seriously, don’t drag it out.”

“I really got to go, Ross, I’m sorry.” Dwight made a helpless gesture and made his way to the door. “Old chap Libby shot himself while cleaning his rifle.”

“Yeah, I heard the shot when I was driving through Rose Street, but it was like ten minutes ago.” Ross followed Dwight to the porch. “It’s what, third time this month?”

“Yes.” sighed Dwight. “His wife said on the phone that he was only grazed by the bullet. His thigh this time.” Dwight paused trying at the same time open his umbrella and find his car keys. “But I swear, if it’s a chest wound again, I’ll just leave him be. I’m not a miracle worker, God dammit!” The umbrella opened in Dwight’s face making him drop his chest and almost stumble down the stairs.

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” Ross rolled his eyes, picking up Dwight’s chest and taking umbrella away from him. “Roads are hell today, with all this rain.”

“God bless you, good Samaritan.” cheeped Dwight imitating blissful tone of their pastor Pomeroy.

“And while I’m driving, you’ll tell me all about my results.” continued Ross, opening his car door and trying to fold Dwight’s ridiculous umbrella.

“Bad Samaritan.” grumbled Dwight and closed his door. His glare didn’t affect Ross at the slightest.

* * *

The _old chap Libby_ ’s house, a small one-story cottage built with gray bricks, was located just around the corner from the Rose Street, where Ross had his almost-accident. It stood aside from other buildings and had a sizable patch of land behind it (not big enough to actually do something useful with it but impressive enough so all the neighbors envied Mr and Mrs Libby wholeheartedly).

Mrs Libby, tired looking lady in her late fifties, was standing on the porch when Ross pulled the jeep into a small driveway. He killed the engine and glanced at Dwight, who was now battling with a seat belt.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Ross, rolling his eyes and unfastening the seat belt with one habitual move. Dwight frowned for a moment, then nodded, making the decision, and opened his door.

“Come on, we’ve wasted enough time.” Dwight was now in a full doctor mode, all serious and professional, his usual mischief forgotten. Ross shivered at the prospect of dealing with an injured man but obediently climbed out of the car.

Dwight’s practice was well-established and well-respected, and he was always flooded with patience but there was this little problem, that town folk jokingly called _the Enys Curse_. Whenever Dwight got himself a nurse to help him run the practice, she would get married and pregnant within a year working for Dwight (sometimes exactly to the day). And nothing, literally, nothing could prevent it. It didn’t matter if the girl was local or not: there was always a future husband waiting for her outside the Dwight’s office. He tried to hire a male nurse once but the guy found himself a husband and an infant to take care of without actually stepping away from his vaccination station. So, Dwight was constantly in between nurses, and Ross, who was around builders and field workers since he was a kid, was skilled enough at first aid to help Dwight whenever he was around.

“Oh, Dwight, Ross! Thank God you’re here!!” cried Mrs Libby, when they trotted to the house, trying in vein to cover their heads from the rain. “He is in the living room, Jenny is with him.” She opened the door, letting them go first, than followed, wringing her hands. “Our poor Jenny. Girls her age aren’t supposed to be experts at stopping the bleeding from gunshot wounds. If her parents find out, they’d never let her stay with us again…”

“It’s going to be fine, Mrs Libby.” Ross tried to reassure the poor woman, putting a hand on her shoulder. She smiled faintly, but still looked too pale and anxious and very far from fine.

“Only if it’s not a chest wound.” mumbled Dwight, shrugging off his parka, than he wiped the sole of his boot on the doormat and turned his steps to the living room. “Okay, where is our hero de jour?” Ross followed without hesitation.

* * *

It took Dwight almost twenty minutes to deal with Mr Libby’s injury, cleaning it and putting in stitches. The man himself didn’t help at all, being all grumpy and vocal about the rifle making industry and _a_ _stupid old rusty trigger._ Ross held the wound edges together while Dwight was working and had a small talk with little Jenifry Libby, who informed him that she wants to be a doctor when she grows up so she didn’t mind helping with her grandpa’s wound at all. Dwight chuckled at that and Ross couldn’t contain a smile himself. Her grandparents, on the other hand, were so immersed in their bickering that they barely paid attention to anything else.

“I don’t like grandpa getting injured so much.” sighed Jenny handing Dwight a fresh bandage. “I wish I could help him somehow.”

“Well, you definitely saved his life, kiddo.” smiled Dwight changing his latex gloves to a new pair that was not covered in blood. “You put enough pressure on his wound and held it so tight, that he didn’t bleed out until we got here. Not every adult could manage a task like this one.” Jenny blushed at the praise and giggled, catching the attention of her grandparents.

“There is a way you could help me, Jenny-boo.” Mr Libby grunted and pettet his granddaughter’s head with his big wrinkly hand. “When I recover, I’ll show you how to clean the rifle properly. If we could do it together…”

“Oh, no, you won’t!” shrieked Mrs Libby, grabbing Jenny by her shoulders with both hands and pressing the child to her side. “You can go and kill yourself for all I care! But don’t you dare hurting our baby girl, you old fool!”

“Mrs Libby, please.” Ross started calmly, but the woman ignored him, glaring at her husband.

“Well, she’ll have to learn to use it someday.” grumbled Mr Libby, lifting his finger to emphasize his point. “How can you look after a flock without a rifle?”

“Oh you...you…” Mrs Libby choked on air and then pushed Jenny away, grabbed the old rifle that was lying here on the chair and ran (surprisingly fast for a woman her age) out of the door, sobbing violently. “I’ll get rid of that damn thing once and for all!” She cried before slamming the door behind her.

Ross and Dwight exchanged concerned glances.

“Damn it!” grumbled Dwight and rose to his feet, pulling off his latex gloves. “Come on, Ross. I’ve fixed the bandage so it won’t fall off. Now, we better stop her before she does something stupid.”

Ross nodded and they hurriedly ran out of the house, ignoring the rain that immediately soaked through their shirts and jeans.

“I can’t see a damn thing!” Ross narrowed his eyes, looking around but everything was covered with the veil of water.

“She couldn’t have gone far!” answered Dwight turning his head from side to side and than groaned loudly. “God, I hate hysterics. There was a reason why I chose to be a surgeon, not a psychologist.”

“There!” Ross finally noticed a movement at the far end of Libby’s land, almost at the fence, and darted in that direction. Dwight followed him with another loud groan.

“Did you know, that my older brother opened a practice in Hawaii?” panted Dwight and grabbed Ross shoulder, when one of his legs slipped on the sagged soil. “Hawaii, Ross! All he gets is diaper rash and heavy hangover cases. And I have to chase an old lady whose husband can’t clean his rifle without hurting himself. In the rain. Why did I have to be the noble one and stay in this shit hole?”

“You love this shit hole.” retorted Ross, breathing steadily. “And you won’t survive Hawaiian heat for more that two days.”

“Make it one.” Dwight rolled his eyes. Ross chuckled but his face quickly grew serious once they reached Mrs Libby, who was erratically digging with her bare hands through the mud. The rifle laid by her side, dirty and soaked wet.

“Mrs Libby?” called Dwight but the only answer he received was heavy sobbing. “Martha?”

“I’ll get rid of it, this stupid, stupid piece of metal.” she mumbled without breaking from her task. “I’ll bury it, once and for all. And he won’t hurt himself anymore, he won’t hurt Jenny. No more blood in my house, no more blood!”

“Martha, come on.” Dwight carefully kneeled down on one knee, disregarding his once new jeans, and softly put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up. Ross and I can take the rifle away, if you want to get rid of it. There is no need for drastic measures.” He nodded and Ross slowly came closer and discreetly moved his leg, pushing the rifle away from the woman. “Kenwyn is injured and Jenny is scared. They need you right now, Martha. They need you to be strong.” Dwight soothingly caressed Mrs Libby’s shoulder, her sobbing ceased and she lifted her gaze from the ground now looking at Dwight pleadingly. “I promise, we will take care of the rifle. And once we get back to the house, I’ll make something to help settle your nerves. You need to take care of yourself, you’ve got such a wonderful baby girl to look after.” Dwight smiled a little and this made Mrs Libby finally heave a sigh and relax, tension leaving her shoulders at once.

Dwight took both her hands in his and helped her to stand up. She leaned on him, too exhausted to support her on weight and Dwight carefully took her by the arm.

“Ross, get the damn thing to your jeep, will you? We’ve had enough fun with it for today.” And he started slowly leading Mrs Libby back to the house.

Ross shook his head and bent down to pick up the rifle. When his fingers closed in on the stock, he mindlessly glanced to the side and abruptly stopped mid stride. The soil was wet, dark and clammy, but somehow Mrs Libby was able to dig quite an impressive hole in such a short time using just her hands. And now Ross could see something showing white and in a very disturbing shape half covered in dirt.

“Dwight!” called Ross, straightening his back and turning his head, though his gaze stayed on the newly discovered object. “Would you come here, please?”

“Oh, for Christ sake!” winced Dwight but let go of Mrs Libby with a quick apology and trotted back to where Ross was standing. “Since when picking up a rifle is two-men job, Ross?”

“Bugger off.” Ross rolled his eyes and then pointed his finger at the hole in the soil. “Look there.”

“What is it?” Dwight frowned and crouched down to take a closer look.

“Well, I’m not an expert.” shrugged Ross feeling very uneasy. “But I assume, it’s a skull.”

“A human skull.” murmured Dwight and lifted his head, looking at Ross with concern written on his face. “We need to call Verity.”

“I just wanted a peaceful Saturday with my fiancee and the Pirates of the Caribbean marathon.” sighed Ross, digging up his phone and unlocking it, despite the rain.

“Looks like the jolly Roger came to you.” snorted Dwight though concern was written all over his face.

They both were so busy looking at their disturbing finding, that they didn’t notice a short dark figure in a thigh-high cloak standing in the distance and regarding them curiously. Though Ross might’ve felt something because he suddenly jerked his head up looking behind the fence but the figure was gone immediately, as if it vanished into thin air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Trenwith Police Station has been one of Ross’ favorite places in the whole town since he was a kid. Verity (Ross’ cousin, sweet and quiet little girl) and he used to come there to visit their uncle Valentine on the weekends, when it was his turn to sit at the desk in the main working area and drink tea, cup after cup, telling his fellow officers tales of his youth. Their uncle died when Ross had just turned twelve and Verity was almost ten, but still, Ross had only fond memories of this place. 

Verity took the nostalgia on the whole other level and after coming of age, she applied to the Police Academy in Plymouth, despite her father’s loud protests and her mother’s very unconvincing fainting (five time in a row, it was too much even in Ross’ opinion). And now, seven years later, Verity Poldark was the pride and joy of Trenwith Police Department. Ross has never missed an opportunity to tease her about this almost official title.

To tell the truth, Ross wanted to be a detective once, fight crimes and solve intricate puzzles. Though he pretty quickly realized that police life in Trenwith was more on a “save neighbor’s cat from a tree” side then anything else, but Verity was determined to create her own version of  _ Midsomer Murders _ and become next DCI Tom Barnaby by the age of thirty. Well, now, Ross thought, she actually stood a chance.

“I’d never picture Mrs Libby for a violent type.” Verity shook her head thoughtfully, the dry-wipe marker in her hand made a squeaking noise when she pressed too hard onto the whiteboard. “Though old ladies are always the freakiest ones. You’d never suspect them of anything, which gives them a perfect excuse to go as crazy as they want to.”

“I don’t think Mrs Libby actually did it, Ver.” Ross, who was now sitting at Verity’s desk in the open space of the Police Station, frowned incredulously. “She is a nice lady with a flakey husband and a granddaughter she needs to take care of while her parents play hippie somewhere in California.” Ross tipped his chair backwards, eyeing curiously the picture that was appearing on the board (Verity actually was trying to draw the crime scene, but she was much less of an artist then she wanted to believe).

“Thank you,  _ Watson. _ ” snorted Verity, carefully drawing a skull that in her opinion apparently looked like a keyhole with a lot of teeth. “Your knowledge of criminals’ minds is exceptional.”

“Well, if you don’t like my input then I don’t understand why you wanted me here in the first place.” huffed Ross, folding his arms. “It was one hell of a morning, let me tell you. I’m tired, wet as a drowned rat and received some pretty bad news from Dwight.” Ross’ voice raised involuntarily. “So  _ please _ , explain to me why do I have to sit at your desk and play Pinky to your Brain instead of lying in a hot bath with my gorgeous fiancee, drinking champagne and doing everything to forget a human skull I found in the ground?”

“First of all, you’re not that bourgeois.” chuckled Verity, absolutely unmoved by Ross’ frustration. “And second, I need to show you something. But only when Dwight confirms my assumption. Until then, Mr Poldark, I’m going to have to ask you to stay where you are.”

“Your trees look like somebody puked on the board.” grumbled Ross vindictively. “And what is that? A mummy with obesity?”

“Actually, I was trying to draw you, Ross. You know, to document where you were standing when you made your finding.” Verity turned to Ross with an acid sneer. “I think it looks perfect.”

Ross made a face at her and averted his gaze, unlocking his phone. From the look of it, it was time to tell Liz that he wasn’t coming home for lunch.

* * *

Ross must’ve dozed off for a while, because the unfamiliar voice behind him startled him so much that he almost fell of a chair (together with the chair, of course).

“Detective Constable Poldark?” the voice was nice, Ross thought through the slumberous haze. Nice and calm, confident. Maybe even bordering arrogant. “You are a tough person to find.”

“Well, that’s odd since I’ve been here for the last two hours.” frowned Verity. She was now sitting in her chair going through what Ross thought must have been his witness statement. “Mr…?”

“Jim Hawkins.” the owner of the voice finally reached Verity’s desk and stopped in front of it. He didn’t acknowledge Ross’ presence, which gave Ross a perfect opportunity to examine him shamelessly. 

Jim Hawkins was, for the lack of a better word, peculiar. His face was young, almost boyish, though Ross did notice a slight gleam of golden stubble on his chin. Yet he was dressed in a way that would much better suit for some high-ranking reception then as an everyday outfit to run around a town like Trenwith. Black dress pants (probably woolen, though Ross was not too good at guessing things like that), long dark trench coat (slim fit with silver buttons on its lapels), dark green silk vest, brilliant white shirt and surprisingly shiny derby shoes (it was still pouring outside, and even if he came by car it would be impossible to keep them this clean). His golden hair were pulled in a loose bun at the back of his head.

Altogether, Jim Hawkins look extremely out of place in Trenwith Police Station, though he acted as if he very much belonged there.

“I underestimated your lovely town, Detective.” Mr Hawkins sounded so mannerly, it made Ross wince. Or maybe his perfect Received Pronunciation was to blame. “I thought I could move around on foot easily but it took longer than I anticipated.”

“Why are you here, Mr Hawkins?” Verity asked, narrowing her eyes. She was in full detective mode now, suspicious yet polite, and Ross would admire that change in his usually sweet and skittish cousin, if he could tear his eyes away from Mr Hawkins.

“Ah, straight to the point, I see.” Mr Hawkins smiled, but it didn’t reach his rich blue eyes. “I’m looking for my cousin, Bella Flint. I believe, she is in your town.”

“I don’t think I know any person that goes by that name.” Verity frowned after a moment pause. “There were no strangers staying in Trenwith since late February, just folks passing by.” Verity thoughtfully bit her lip. “Unless she is staying in one of Poldark’s retreats further down the coast…” she turned to Ross, looking at him questionably as if he could remember every guest that spent time in his retreats and resorts.

“Oh, she isn’t.” Mr Hawkins smile turned dismissive, and Ross felt a strong urge to smack that posh smartass with something heavy.

“So, you  _ do _ know where she is?” Verity now looked positively confused.

“I know she is in Trenwith, Detective. But she isn’t  _ staying _ here.” Mr Hawkins tilted his head a little, and a stray lock escaped his hipster hairstyle. “You see, Detective, my cousin Bella Flint is dead.”

If Ross wasn’t so shocked by Mr Hawkins’ words, he would definitely laugh at Verity, who actually dropped a tea cup she was going to take a sip from on the floor. 

* * *

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” exclaimed Verity, stopping her vicious pacing for a moment and turning to Superintendent John Silver, gray-haired man with a Santa Claus beard and surprisingly sharp green eyes. “I’m telling you, Sir, something isn’t right here.”

Ross tiredly pinched his nose bridge. He really did have better things to do today (binge watching movies, tasting Liz’ signature hear stew, checking in on his favorite horse Gaia, who was having troubles with one of her hoofs and had to be re-shoed last Thursday, and many, many other nice little tasks that he was able to do only on the weekends, when he didn’t have to constantly supervise fieldworkers or resort managers), but from the look of it, he was now positively stuck with this dead people business, that Verity (or maybe even Dwight before her) dragged him into.

Superintendent Silver nodded his head thoughtfully but didn’t comment, which made Verity huff loudly and resume her anxious pacing. 

All three of them were now in Superintendent’s office (a nice room with a big window, wooden floor and an oak desk, little souvenirs, books and picture frames spread all over the place made it look and feel rather homey). Superintendent was sitting at his desk, his fingers locked and a thoughtful expression on his wrinkled but still handsome face. Verity was pacing for the whole half an hour, since she smiled politely at Mr Hawkins and basically dragged Ross by the collar of his shirt to Superintendent’s office. Ross himself preferred to occupy a big chair in the corner near Superintendent’s desk, his tangled legs on a coffee table and arms behind his head. If Verity wanted to play detective it was her own choice, all she would get from him is a minor role of a stuffed bunny at best and not Histings to her Poirot.

“Let’s go through the facts again.” Verity bit her lip anxiously. “He says, that his cousin, Isabella Flint, decided one day to take a trip to see a friend from her university days. She didn’t give him a name or a specific place where this friend lived, thought she did mention Cornwall.” she glanced quickly through the inner window covered with open blinds at Mr Hawkins who was obediently sitting at her desk where she left him, though he did engage in conversation two young constables coming off duty. Ross followed her gaze just in time to see Mr Hawkins tilting his head in a wholehearted laugh. It made Ross’ blush for no apparent reason. 

“Ms Flint called him saying that she arrived safely and that he didn’t need to worry about her. Then she went off the grid for two more days and then she texted him to say that she was going to stay ‘here’ and that he shouldn’t try to look for her.” Verity paused for a moment, frowning, then continued. “He says it made him go to the police because Ms Flint couldn’t have possibly write something like that since she had a job in London that she loved, her old father to take care of and a dog or something. Basically, she had an established life that she would never abandon, not without coming home herself and sorting things out first. Scotland Yard did everything in their power but they couldn’t even pinpoint the town Ms Flint went to. Her father did everything he could, even hired a private detective, but they came up blank. Soon the trail went cold.”

“So far so good.” Superintendent Silver finally broke the silence. “When was it?”

“One year and eight month ago, Sir.” said Verity and shoot a quick look at Ross, who frowned, confused. “And that’s where it gets freaky. Mr Hawkins says that he almost gave up hope of finding his cousin, when a few days ago she  _ came to him in a dream _ and told him, that she was  _ dead _ and her body was buried in Trenwith, Cornwall.” Verity shivered and Ross huffed skeptically. “I wouldn’t bat an eye on it on any other day, Sir, but we did find human remains this morning. And that fact brings this matter to the whole other level.”

“I like this  _ we  _ thing _ , _ Ver. Sounds majestic.” grumbled Ross earning a death glare from his cousin.

“Shove it, Ross.” snapped Verity , who hated more than anything to be interrupted when she was on a roll.

“Language, Detective Constable!” barked Superintendent Silver, thought amusement was clear on his face. Leaving Verity to pout, he turned to Ross. “What exactly  _ are _ you doing here, Poldark? Don’t you have a Porsche to crush or a waiter to harass? Or whatever you posh kids do these days?”

“With all do respect, Sir,  _ that _ is posh.” Ross nodded in the direction of Mr Hawkins, who was now sitting alone with a phone in his hands. “I’m just your friendly neighborhood millionaire kid.” Superintendent chuckled at his words. “And yes, I’d love to do something useful and, probably, very costly to forget the horror of this morning, but Detective Constable Poldark here needed me to stay and identify something.”

“Fine, that settles it.” Superintendent agreed after a short pause and turned his attention back to Verity. “Do go on, Detective.”

“As I was saying.” Verity straightened her back and resumed pacing once again. “Maybe he made that story up. Maybe he knows something about those remains and is trying to throw us off. Maybe he killed his cousin himself and now wants to avert suspicion. Maybe Bella Flint doesn’t even exist and he just made her up to cover up his crimes!”

“Well, that is easy to check, Detective.” Superintendent looked unimpressed. “And I suggest you do that  _ before  _ you get ahead of yourself and start throwing any accusations.”

“Yes, Sir.” sighed Verity and finally flopped down on a guest chair, obviously exhausted after running around the office like a crazy cartoon character.

A few moments passed in silence, Verity and Superintendent deep in their thoughts and Ross toying with the idea of causing a diversion and finally getting out of here.

There was a knock at the door and then Dwight’s voice asked for a permission to enter.

“Finally!” Verity straightened in her chair excitedly. “ _ Please, _ tell me you found something.”

Dwight’s face was grim though he did try to smile enthusiastically, but failed miserably. That expression was so not-Dwight that Ross frowned and leaned forward, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“I have a lot of different news, Verity. Sir.” Dwight nodded to Superintendent, who also now looked concerned. “Good, bad, worse: you pick where do you want me to start.”

“Let’s start with the good news and go downhill from there.” sighed Superintendent and Dwight nodded curtly.

“I’ve identified the person whose skull Ross found in the pit.” said Dwight and bit his lip nervously. 

“That was fast.” Superintendent raised his brows, surprised.

“Well, it was the good news. The reason why it was so fast is, actually, the bad one.” Dwight hesitated, his eyes now on Ross. “I’ve found this lying with bones.” He put a plastic evidence bag on the coffee table with something golden in it. Ross’ eyes immediately glued to the shiny object, thought he couldn’t make out its form. 

“What is it?” He found himself asking, his voice husky and unsteady.

“A medallion.” Dwight hesitated again. “I recognized it because I helped you to pick it out. In old Spargo’s shop, remember? The one on Willow Street, his son turned in into a bar after his Dad died. Said it was ridiculous to sell antiques in the town that was an antique on itself.”

“What?” Ross reached out, feeling like he was moving under water, and took the bag, familiar weight startling him.

“It’s the medallion you bought for Liz, your first real gift to her after years of buying her candies and picking up flowers from your mum’s flowerbed.” Dwight pursed his lips sympathetically.

“Yeah, I remember. But how can it be here?” Ross turned the bag trying to get a good look at its contents. “I mean, I haven’t seen Liz wearing it in a while but she would never give it to someone else.”

“Well, there is one person she would give it to.” Dwight winced but continued. “I mean, there  _ was _ .”

“ _Meredith._ ” breathed Ross immediately feeling his heart sink. “She is dead.”

“I’m afraid so.” Dwight came closer and put his hand on Ross’ shoulder. “I made a dental comparison. It’s her.”

“Damn it.” Ross pursed his lips unable to tear his eyes away from the medallion. “It will break Liz’ heart.”

“If that’s the bad news, Doctor, I’m actually afraid to ask what can be worse.” Superintendent cleared his throat, his face paler than Ross has ever seen him.

“Oh, there is more to come, Sir.” said Dwight, wincing anxiously. “First of all, there was another set of remains. Also human. But it will take time to identify them because Meredith Chynoweth was the only disappearing case in Trenwith in the last- what, twenty years?” 

Superintendent nodded solemnly and turned his head to the side. Ross followed his gaze and rested his eyes on Mr Hawkins who, to Ross’ surprise, was looking directly at him. It was hard to tell from the distance, but for some reason Ross was sure that if he was standing closer, he’d see those blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“And second.” continued Dwight sighing. “I’ve briefly inspected both skulls and even though I will need more time for a thorough examination, I already have an idea how they both died.”

“How?” asked Ross, dreading the answer. Mr Hawkins was still holding his gaze.

“Blunt force trauma to the head.” Those words made Verity gasp. “They were both  _ murdered _ . And the killer is here, in Trenwith.”

As if on command, Mr Hawkins smirked, and Ross’ averted his eyes, feeling a sudden chill running down his spine. Everyone in the office lapsed into heavy silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still very unbeta-ed, guys, sorry

**Chapter 3**

Sunday raced by in a blur, with Liz sobbing violently on Ross’ shoulder, and Mr and Mrs Chynoweth occupying Superintendent Silver’s office, asking questions and demanding explanations that nobody possessed.

Dwight promised to release Meredith’s remains as soon as he would be able to separate her bones from her companion’s, who proved to be indeed Ms Bella Flint. When Verity told Mr Hawkins about the second body, he didn’t hesitate to provide dental scans that helped Dwight to identify unknown remains. And even though Mr Hawkins did shake his head and pursed his lips grievingly, he didn’t exactly look like a man who has just found out about the death of his close relative. On the contrary, he relaxed upon hearing the news and could barely contain a smug smile, like someone who was happy to be proven right. Not that Ross cared about any of it, but Verity decided that he must be kept in the loop about everything relevant to the case. 

_ The First Light Chronicles,  _ of course, had its crowning moment, posting a huge though blurred photo of the crime scene on the first page with tremendous banner head that read  _ GARDEN OF DEATH: TWO SETS OF BONES FOUND ON OLD LIBBY’S LAND, MORE TO COME?  _ Which didn’t help to pacify Trenwith folk at all. Even the most poise people cried  _ murder _ and  _ panic _ and  _ who is next, _ and predicted that any moment the whole army of Scotland Yard inspectors would pop up and destroy the proper way of life in Trenwith once and for all. So basically, the whole Hell broke loose after  _ The Chronicles _ publication, and there were not enough constables on the coast to calm people down.

Luckily, Ross was as far away from the hysteria as he could master, staying in Nampara House with Liz, who was beside herself with grief. They laid in bed the whole day, Liz crying and Ross stroking her hair soothingly and ignoring the steady stream of Verity’s texts.

“We should tell Francis.” eventually said Liz, when the sun almost set and the room was flooded with the twilight, her voice husky and creaky from crying. “They were very close.”

“If he doesn’t know already.” sighed Ross, knowing too well how fast news and rumors traveled in their lands. 

“I’ll go see him tomorrow.” continued Liz after a short pause. “It’s better if he hears it from me.”

“Well, I was going to visit  _ The Clover Mill  _ anyways.” Ross shifted a little, so Liz’ weight wouldn’t crush his arm. “I can tell him.”

“No.” Liz shook head head stubbornly. “It must be me.”

“If you insist.” Ross frowned a little but decided not to argue with her at the moment like this.

Liz sighed tiredly and snuggled closer to Ross, nuzzling into his neck. They stayed like this long after the sun dipped below the horizon.

* * *

On Monday morning Ross woke up yet again to the raindrops beating against the window. Such weather wasn’t that unusual for early May in Cornwall though it didn’t mean that Ross liked it in the slightest.

Despite the early hour Liz’ side of the bed was cold and since Ross couldn’t hear radio playing downstairs or smell coffee with cardamom and almond, it meant that Liz stood by her decision and actually left to visit Francis in  _ The Clover Mill  _ first thing in the morning.

Francis Poldark was Ross’ cousin and Verity’s older brother, but they’ve never been particularly close. Francis was almost ten years Ross’ senior which for children always feels like a hundred, so if Ross and Verity were best friends growing up, Francis has been sort of a stranger to them both. He kept mostly to himself, and even though Ross would never call Francis a bad person, he  always felt some kind of resentment, due to the fact that Francis and Verity’s father Charles chose the life of a musician and sighed away family business to Joshua, Ross’ father. So, there was a lot of family drama going on, and though Ross preferred to ignore it and even hired Francis to help run  _ The Clover Mill  _ retreat, it didn’t exactly help to build friendship between cousins.

Ross sighed tiredly and forced himself out of bed. He felt emotionally exhausted after the past two days, but he had a business to take care of and if he wanted to take a month off to have a proper honeymoon with Liz in August, he had to work for it now, so everything won’t fall apart the moment he isn’t looking. 

Ross took a quick shower, made himself a tuna sandwich to go (Liz hated when he skipped proper breakfast, but Ross always felt ridiculous using half the dishes in the kitchen just to make a meal for one) and, after a brief moment of hesitation, he left the house, locking the door behind him. Murder or not, life did go on. 

* * *

By noon the rain almost ceased turning from a downpour into a drizzle, though the temperature dropped significantly, and Ross felt chilled to the bones after a short walk from his jeep to the inn, where he decided to have lunch (besides he still had to deliver two boxes of Irish whiskey that he ordered a week ago and picked up earlier today). 

The inn called  _ The Drunk Mouse  _ wasn’t just the oldest building in Trenwith, it was basically the heart of the town. Some people even said that  _ The Drunk Mouse _ opened its doors long before there was a town at all. It was the first property that Ross’ ancestor Ret Poldark bought and turned from a dirty dying tavern into a successful inn (and later his grandson Talan Poldark made it part of his hotel empire that only grew from generation to generation). Ross loved  _ The Drunk Mouse  _ more than any of his other hotels and spent most of his free time improving it or just hanging around, especially since he convinced old Jenkin, who was  managing the place long before Ross was even born, to get the wi-fi up and running. 

Ross pushed the door with his shoulder, his hands occupied with the whiskey box, and came into the inn. On the ground floor there was a tavern with a big dining hall and old wooden bar counter; booths were leather covered with beautiful handmade throw pillows, the floor was dark wood just like the panels on the walls and the windows were stained-glass. It was always a bit gloomy inside because of the way the inn was built (and also because Jenkin was a miser and refused to turn on the chandelier when it was a least some light outside). Locals, who chose  _ The Drunk Mouse _ as their domain of the rumors exchange, were used to that state of affairs; and tourists who were passing through the town and decided to grab a bite (or sometimes even stay for the night on the upper floor) thought the tavern to be very authentic and always left generous tips and good reviews (not that Jenkin cared, of course). 

Today the place was packed despite it being too early for a proper lunch (or a pint, for that matter), the air buzzing with hushed voices and glass clanking. When Ross came it, the talking ceased for a long heavy moment and then resumed with a vengeance. Ross sighed and made his way to the bar, nodding to Jenkin in greeting.

“It’s good of you to come here, Ross.” said Jenkin (a lean tall man with brown-gray hair, big glasses and surprisingly strong hands for someone his age), taking away the whiskey box and putting it under the counter. “It gives people hope.”

“Oh, you’re being overdramatic again.” Ross rolled his eyes, settling down on a bar stool. Jenkin gave a sign to Tressa the waitress, and she disappeared into the kitchen to get Ross’ order (he spent so much time here that they didn’t need to ask him what he wanted to eat). 

“People are worried, Ross.” shrugged Jenkin, picking up his cloth and starting to polish one of the freshly washed glasses. “They know, once the rest of the world finds out about this murder business, we will have a Scotland Yard goof crawling under every stone within a ten mile radius of Trenwith. It will ruin us for good.”

“Scotland Yard has better things to do then to deal with a two dead girls in Cornwall.” huffed Ross and smiled at Tressa who brought him a mug of coffee and  _ The Drunk Mouse  _  signature steak with mashed potatoes on the side. “We have our own police station and a very eager young Detective Constable raring to go. And Silver is more that capable to deal with this situation. He won’t let any metropolitan peacock sniff around his town.”

“Speaking of which, this Hawkins kid is much nicer than I expected.” Jankin twisted his lips as if that fact offended him deeply. “I thought he’d be your usual type, with his fancy clothes and expensive luggage, and, you know,  _ a credit card _ …” Jankin shook his head and shivered to emphasize his disapproval of these pieces of plastic. “But after a pint or two he actually turned out to be a decent fellow.”

“He is staying here?” Ross’ lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“Of course he is staying here, where else would he go?” snorted Jankin, picking up next glass. “Took room 8, the one your Dad restored from old photos, with the creaky floor and a stiff window.”

“Right.” nodded Ross slowly. “I just haven’t thought about it. It’s a good room, I like that one.”

“Then you should do something about the floor, it’s hella annoying.” grumbled Jankin. 

“Sure.” Ross smiled hesitantly, his thoughts suddenly jumping all over the place. Luckily, one of the patrons just came through the door attracting Jankin’s attention, and he left Ross to his steak and this odd tug in his guts that meant nothing but trouble.

* * *

In the end, it was surprisingly easy, to stand up from the bar stool, smile at Tressa and just go up the stairs to the bedroom floor as if he had any business to be there. In his stuff’s defense, Ross did usually have something to do upstairs, like mending furniture or dealing with electrical problems, so him going up was something not worth Jankin’s attention.

Once he reached last step, Ross paused, listening. After the buzz of the dining hall the quiet here was almost deafening (Ross’ father did a huge renovation job about five years prior to his death installing a new soundproof system, so guests wouldn’t be bothered by loud tavern noises). 

There were four rooms at each side of the stairs, narrow hall flooded with the dim light coming from the small side window in the end. Ross’ steps were muffled by the dark carpeting that covered the floor. Room 5 on his left, room 6 on his right, room 7 on the left again, and finally, room 8 on his right. Ross stopped before the plain wooden door with an antique knob and took a deep breath, grinding his teeth.

It was a bad idea. Legitimately, a  _ bad idea. _

But now, standing at the door of Mr Hawkins’ room Ross just  _ couldn’t _ turn away. Verity’s words suddenly flooded his mind, how she talked about possibility of Mr Hawkins being the killer, about him keeping secrets, about him  _ knowing _ something, and Ross had the spare key to room 8 in his hands without before he could fully make up his mind. 

Ross knew that he was being prejudice, because even though he went to London to get his Business degree and spent enough years doing so to think himself progressive and to roll his eyes at conservative Trenwith folk, he still grew up with this small-town mindset and now, after coming back from London and settling in Trenwith for good, he remembered to distrust strangers and be wary of their motives and deeds. 

And then his thoughts turned to Meredith, once beautiful and full of life, maybe a little darker then Liz at times, edgier, wilder, but still a wonderful human being, now degraded to a pile of bare bones lying in the morgue where Dwight was trying to defer her sacrum from someone else’s. The picture was so vivid in Ross’ mind, that all hesitation evaporated and he determinately put the key in the lock and turned.

* * *

Room 8 of  _ The Drunken Mouse  _ was indeed restored by Joshua Poldark from old photos and even some sketches made by unknown enthusiasts. It was Joshua’s pet project and he was very proud of it, but little Ross was, of course, always welcome to help. So no wonder it was the place he knew best in the whole inn.

Out of habit Ross slid his fingers over one of the wooden panels that were covering walls. It was warm despite the terrible weather and the thermostat being set on the lowest possible temperature. 

It was Ross’ luck that the room was empty since he was so consumed in his sudden detective outburst that he forgot to ask Jankin if Mr Hawkins was out and if he said how long he will be gone. Ross carefully closed the door behind himself and looked around.

Across from the door there was a window, the wooden frame looked shabby but Ross knew how much work was put into making something modern and soundproofed look almost antique. Heavy dark green drapes were opened though it didn’t really help to make the room any brighter. 

By the left wall there was a twin bed with a pile of throw pillows and a handmade bed cover in all shades of green and gold. Next to the bed stood a night table with a funny looking lamp in the shape of a maiden with a baby goat in her arms, and an old phone, so the guests could contact the bar whenever they wanted (not that Jankin was particularly eager to answer their calls, of course). There were no personal possessions on the night table, just an open bar menu taken from its usual place on the mahogany bureau located by the opposite wall.

Ross turned his head and was surprised to see that the old bureau was actually moved almost to the window and in its place stood a big wooden trunk. It looked like something out of a pirate movie with an intricate carving (flowers, sea shells, waves, fishes and - is it a human head?) and iron-bound corners. And also it seemed very expensive, though Ross wasn’t an expert and had to rely on Jankin’s remark to support his own impression.

The trunk was opened and a pile of clothing stuck out, surprisingly disorderly and colorful. Apparently, uptight Mr Hawkins decided that a plain wardrobe next to the door wasn’t good enough for his precious Armani shirts or whatever he wore underneath those ridiculous vests of his.  

Ross took a step to the trunk, feeling like a kid who is going to dive into his mother’s purse after she specifically told him not to, when a floor under his feet made a nasty creaking noise (Ross almost jumped with fear), and the next moment the door leading to the small bathroom flew open, revealing Mr Hawkins, his white shirt unfastened and a pair of cufflinks in his hand.

“Now  _ that _ is an interesting room service option.” Mr Hawkins grinned looking Ross up and down. “I didn’t order a companion, but I’ll make sure to write a good review on how considerate and friendly this place is.”

“I’m  _ not _ a companion!” growled Ross, his heart beating in his throat and a blush creeping in on his cheeks. “There isn’t such thing in Trenwith, for your information.”

“Then you’re trespassing, Mr Poldark.” Mr Hawkins shrugged nonchalantly and moved to the trunk, clasping his cufflinks on the go.

“I’m not trespassing since I’m the owner of this inn.” Ross finally recovered enough to feel anything beyond embarrassment and a strong desire to melt into the ground. After all, his detective outburst hasn’t completely evaporated yet.

“Oh, yes.” drawled Mr Hawkins, taking a bright yellow vest out of the trunk. “But I thought you  _ will _ be an owner once you get married. Until then, you’re just here for safe keeping.”

“How do you know that?” frowned Ross, narrowing his eyes.

“People like to talk and I like to listen.” chuckled Mr Hawkins, putting on the vest and buttoning up his shirt. 

“And why would they talk to  _ you _ ? You’re a  _ stranger _ .” Ross’ frown deepened.

“Because I’m charming, obviously.” smirked Mr Hawkins fastening his vest and turning to finally face Ross. “But we got sidetracked. Why are you here?” He looked at Ross questioningly.

“I…” Ross stammered, not knowing what to say, his mind suddenly blank and no excuse prepared. He winced at his unpreparedness and straightened his back, trying to look more confident than he felt. “I came to ask you some questions. In relation to the remains of your cousin and Mer- my fiancee’s sister.”

“The fiancee, right.” Mr Hawkins smirked, taking a few steps back and leaning on the bureau. He crossed his arms and looked at Ross, tilting his head a little to the side. “The Chynoweth girl. Lovely and kind, a perfect match to the golden child of Trenwith.” Mr Hawkins chuckled. “So, which one of you are in it for the money?” he asked nonchalantly with the fake innocence on his face. “You, who can’t get his hands on his inheritance before saying ‘I do’, or her, who has debts bigger than mummy and daddy can pay off?”

That question made Ross choke on air.

“How the hell do know all that?” Ross clenched his teeth feeling anger raising in his chest. “And what is it you’re saying about Liz’ debts? She doesn’t have any.”

“Of course she doesn’t.” snorted Mr Hawkins and clicked his tongue. “You guys really should work on your communication.”

Ross felt his fists clench, but Mr Hawkins continued talking.

“As for how I know all that, well, it’s my job. To know things about people.” he shrugged, and Ross raised his eyebrows, confused.

“Your job is to poke your nose into other people's business?” Ross huffed, the sudden flash of anger settling down. “What kind of job is that?”

“Not the one I chose on purpose.” Mr Hawkins sighed, and Ross thought that for the first time he sounded sincere.

“What do you do then?” Ross crossed his arms, looking at Mr Hawkins suspiciously. 

“I’m a psychic.” there was a challenge is Mr Hawkins eyes, as if he was daring Ross to laugh at him.

“Seriously?” snorted Ross after a short pause he took to digest the information. “That’s what you’re going with? A psychic?”

Mr Hawkins rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh and offered Ross a small rectangular piece of dark paper that materialized in his hands out of nowhere. Ross hesitantly came closer and took the offered object, still eyeing Mr Hawkins suspiciously. 

It was a business card made of fine cardboard, black velvet on one side and black paper with golden letters on the other. 

_ James Hawkins PhD _

_ Tarot readings _

_ Psychic visions _

_ Spiritual consultations _

_ 020 7946 0500 _

It smelled like dust and herbs and was surprisingly heavy. Ross tapped the card with his nails and lifted his gaze at Mr Hawkins.

“PhD? Let me guess, Oxford?” it sounded more curiously than sarcastically, how Ross initially intended. 

“Cambridge actually.” chuckled Mr Hawkins visibly relaxing. “Psychology, obviously, and English literature. You?” he smirked and stretched out left arm dramatically, tilting his head and shielding his eyes with his right hand. “No, wait, let me guess!” Mr Hawkins hummed, moving his arm in circles. “London Business School?” he opened one of his eyes and looked at Ross through his fingers.

“Yes.” Ross nodded and smiled somewhat amused. “I believe anyone can find this information downstairs on our ‘honorary board’. Jankin loves that sort of things, though he would never admit it.”

“You don’t believe in psychics then?” Mr Hawkins tilted his head frowning a little. It made him look almost adorable, and Ross winced internally at this thought.

“I believe in psychology and intuition.” Ross shrugged. “Not supernatural abilities or ghosts or whatever.”

“How did I know then that Bella was dead?” he narrowed his eyes looking smug, making Ross remember Verity’s text about Mr Hawkins reaction to confirmation of Ms Flint’s death.

“Maybe you killed her.” Ross eyed him keenly waiting for the reaction, but Mr Hawkins just laughed openly. 

“I’ve never been to Trenwith before, it’s impossible to move around here unnoticed.” Mr Hawkins rolled his eyes amused. “Besides, at the time of her disappearance I was working on a study with my former professor and barely had time to sleep or eat properly, let alone drive over four hours just to kill my cousin whom I loved dearly.”

“You don’t look particularly drooped with sorrow.” said Ross, crooking one eyebrow.

“I had almost two years to come to terms with her death.” Mr Hawkins sighed deeply. “I didn’t need any dreams or visions to detect that she won’t be coming back. I knew Bells well enough to realize, if she disappeared like that, it wasn’t her choice.”

“So, you think the killer is someone from Trenwith?” Ross rolled his shoulders to chase away a nasty feeling of dread settling in his bones.

“I don’t  _ think _ it, I  _ know _ it.” Mr Hawkins’ faced darkened. “And I intend to find out who that is.”

“Oh, don’t go playing Ms Marple, it won’t end well.” Ross huffed but then added in a more serious tone. “Verity is a good detective. She might look like a sweet village girl, but she was top of her class in the Academy and she is great at her job.”

“Really? How many murders did Detective Constable Poldark solve then?” Mr Hawkins quirked his eyebrow. “How many killers did she catch?”

“None.” mumbled Ross sheepishly after a short pause and then added hurriedly. “But she will! Just give her a chance, would you?”

“I don’t take chances and I don’t give them either.” Mr Hawkins crossed his arms with an abrupt nod, emphasizing his point. 

Ross was at loss what to say to that, and the room sank into a silence.

“It was a pleasure talking to you, Mr Poldark…” started Mr Hawkins after a few minutes, pulling Ross out of his thoughts. 

“Ross, please.” he said automatically and startled, when Mr Hawkins laughed suddenly.

“You broke into my room and have been interrogating me for quite some time and yet we are still on a ‘mister’ basis. It’s ridiculous.” Mr Hawkins couldn’t stop chuckling. “Call me Jim then.”

“Pleasure.” huffed Ross feeling somewhat stupid. “And I wasn’t interrogating you.”

“You were, but that’s alright.” Jim smirked, pushing of the bureau and heading to the wardrobe. “I quite liked it.” He turned and winked at Ross. “And now, if you’d excuse me, I have my cousin’s remains to transport.”

“You’re leaving?” Ross asked before he could stop himself. The fact that he sounded a little disappointed even to his own ears made him frown.

“No, I’m staying. I called a company that specialized on that sort of thing. I couldn’t just send her bones by DHL, could I?” Jim smirked when Ross made a grimace at his joke.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” mumbled Ross and when Jim didn’t object, turned his steps to the door. “Good luck, I guess.” he said to Jim’s back.

“I’ll see you around,  _ Ross _ !” hummed Jim and disappeared behind the heavy wardrobe door.

Ross left the room as fast as he could and even when he got to his jeep and locked the door, he still felt his heart beating in his throat as if he was being chased by a childhood nightmare.

Ross shook his head and fastened his seat belt but suddenly found himself unable to even ignite the engine let alone drive away. He wrote it off as his detective senses kicking back to life, and decided to stay and maybe try to follow Jim around, see, if he really goes where he said he would.

Two hours, five missed calls from one of his managers and twenty-odd texts from Verity later Ross came to a conclusion that Jim wasn’t planning on ever leaving the inn. It made him so frustrated that he even called Jankin and casually tried to ask about Jim’s whereabouts (the creaky floor and some renovation threats came in handy). To his surprise Jankin told him, that the maid Anna has just been in room 8 to change the sheets and the guest occupying it was nowhere to be found.

Ross has never frowned so deeply in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

On the morning of Meredith Chynoweth’s funeral the sun was shining so bright it actually hurt to be outside without having sunglasses on. Ross felt ridiculous in his black suit with the black turtleneck underneath it and with reflective aviators covering half his face, but Liz insisted that he should wear them, saying that the last thing she wanted to happen was Ross dropping her sister’s coffin because he was being blinded by the sun.

Despite hot sun rays and sweet warm breeze filled with dizzying smell of lilies, it was still chilly inside the local church where Chynoweth family chose to hold the service for their late daughter. After outside brightness the church hall seemed almost pitch black when Ross crossed the threshold with Liz holding his hand and sniffing quietly. 

She looked lovely in her plain knee-length black dress, the heels of her shoes clattering lightly against the stone floor of the church. Liz rarely wore black and Ross couldn’t avoid thinking how much it suited her. Though he would rather see her wearing something garish or ill-fitted if it meant that she would never have to cry like she was crying now ever again.

Chynoweth family occupied most of the first pew near the priest stand (two aunts and three cousins of Liz and Merry were able to come to Cornwall on such short notice), so Ross led Liz there and went to fetch her some water to help her calm down at least a little bit. To his surprise, when Ross came back there was Francis sitting right next to Liz holding her hand and whispering something in her ear.

“Is everything alright?” frowned Ross, offering Liz unopened bottle of water and eyeing Francis questioningly.

“Ah, Ross, here you are!” Francis turned to him, and for a moment there was something akin to anger in his pale eyes. “I decided to keep Liz company until your return.”

“Thank you, Francis.” nodded Ross and then added hesitantly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She was not exactly mine.” sighed Francis, averting his gaze. “Not yet at least.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? If I may ask.” Ross sit down on the other side of Liz and looked at Francis curiously. “I had no idea there was something between the two of you.”

“She wasn’t ready to announce our relationship to the world.” answered Francis quietly. “Maybe if she did, everything would be different.”

“There is no use to dwell on ‘what ifs’, Francis.” interrupted Liz, sounding surprisingly stern. “You can’t change the past.”

“I really wish I could.” Francis looked at her, and the expression on his face made Ross think for a moment that there was some deeper meaning behind his words. 

Liz turned away, sniffing again, and brought her crumpled handkerchief to her eyes. Francis took it as a clue and stood up.

“I’ll go find Verity before she does something stupid. Again.” Francis chuckled joylessly. “This girl believes that the funeral is a proper time to interrogate people.”

Ross nodded and saw him melt into the crowd before turning back to Liz and taking her hand in his.

“Francis is acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.” Ross frowned, stroking Liz’ palm absently.

“It’s the funeral of the woman he was madly in love with.” Liz gasped for air, fighting a sob. “The woman who disappeared almost two years ago and was found murdered less then a week ago. Francis can act as weird as he wants too.”

“Of course he can.” Ross put one arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Though I’d never take him for a ‘madly in love’ type.”

  
“Now you’re being cruel, Ross.” Liz stiffened against him and added coldly. “It’s my sister’s funeral, I’d rather you behave properly.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” murmured Ross placing a kiss on her temple. She relaxed in his arms though Ross deemed it right not to try to talk to her again before the ceremony began.

* * * 

The wake was held in Chynoweth house a few streets down from the church, so everyone who came to say goodbye to Meredith could just walk there not needing to fetch a car or any other sort of transportation. Ross was too busy to help with the organization of the whole thing, so now he took upon himself a role of Liz’ assistance trying to attend to her every need. No that she needed much, to be honest, apart from reassuring kisses or soothing squeezes of her fingers.

People came and went, bringing flowers and cards with sympathetic notes; sharing stories and even anecdotes from Meredith and Elizabeth’s childhood (the girls were true little minxes, sweet and polite around their parents but a real disaster when left unsupervised). Liz laughed and cried hearing how many people actually cared about her sister, and Ross felt this weird mix of awe and deep sadness at the same time.

At some point Verity came to offer her condolences, but remembering Francis’ words Ross grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to the kitchen, smiling politely and nodding to the people on their way.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at Verity letting her go. She straightened her suit jacket and glared at Ross snappishly.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Verity crossed her arms. “I’m trying to support my future sister-in-law in the hour of need.”

“By interrogating her?” Ross winced sarcastically.

“I would never!” Verity had enough sense of self-preservation to look scandalized but it faltered quickly. “Though I do have some questions for her. She’s been impossible to catch since Sunday.”

“Liz has been dealing with funeral arrangements and wedding preparations at the same time.” sighed Ross, leaning on the kitchen counter and shaking his head. “Past five days were a nightmare for her.”

“Sucks to be her.” mumbled Verity, shrugging and slamming her back against the closed kitchen door.

“Ver!” grumbled Ross indignantly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Verity raised her arms in surrender, the pained expression on her face. “It’s just this case. It’s killing me, Ross! Five days and I haven’t made  _ any  _ progress.”

“Well, you didn’t expect to solve in overnight, did you?” Ross pushed off the counter and stepped closer to Verity, putting a hand on her upper arm and squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s a tough one.”

“And a cold one.” sighed Verity, resting her forehead on Ross’ shoulder. “Dwight can’t be sure but he says they both died around the time of their disappearances.”

“Makes sense.” nodded Ross thoughtfully. “If Merry came back to Trenwith at some point just to be killed here, somebody would’ve seen her before that happened.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t only makes sense, it complicates things.” Verity sighed again and straightened her back, folding her arms. “We believed she left. I thought it was odd that she took her documents and money but not her car. Though if you want to disappear without a trace a car could be an obstacle. Anyway, she left, that was the working theory.” Verity gave up the pretense of composure and started pacing around the kitchen. Ross took her place, leaning on the door. “But now we know that she was murdered here, in Trenwith. By someone we all at least once greeted on the street. Murdered and buried on a property that only local know is a good place to hide a body, since Mr Libby doesn’t cultivate it.”

“It was kind of obvious from the beginning, that the local is involved.” frowned Ross. “It’s terrible and scary and awful, but it’s something we’re going to have to accept.”

“Not just the local, Ross.” hissed Verity suddenly, her eyes narrowed. “That’s the thing, it’s not  _ just  _ some local psychopath pretending to be a good farmer or a village tailor.”

“What are you trying to say?” Ross felt his shoulders tensing up, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

“Meredith Chynoweth didn’t went missing at her work nor was she abducted on her way home. She wasn’t killed on a dark road or behind some barn in the fields. She didn’t drown in the ocean nor did she fell from a cliff.” Verity came closer to Ross, now standing just inches away from him, her face pale and eyes burning. “She disappeared from  _ here _ , Ross. From this house, her parent’s house. Silver took their testimony when that happened, I found his notes in archives.” Verity’s voice was now barely above whisper but it didn’t lose its fire. “Her clothes was still here, she didn’t take  _ anything _ with her. Her phone was still charging on her night table. She didn’t even take that much money, just what she had on her personal card, nothing from her trust. It didn’t really matter at the time but now, when we know that she didn’t leave but was murdered…” Verity trailed off, giving Ross a meaningful look.

“Verity, would you stop the drama?” Ross pushed off the door and went to the cupboard to get a bottle of water. “You’re giving me creeps.”

“Good.” Verity crossed her arms, her face hardening. “Because I’m trying to tell you that the killer is somebody who was close to Merry. Somebody, who could come to her house without raising an alarm. And who was smart enough to make her murder look like a disappearance.” Verity winced and continued in a quieter tone. “Somebody who is in this house  _ right now _ .”

Ross almost dropped the bottle of water feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck upon hearing Verity’s words.

* * * 

By the time Ross came back to the living room, the crowd thinned off, only close friends of the family still spread out on sofas and chairs, talking quietly and devouring what was left of the food. 

Liz stood near the window with her parents, their faces grim but resigned. It looked like she didn’t have more tears to shed and under different circumstances Ross would be glad to see her gaining her composure back, but after his talk with Verity all he could feel was this nauseous sensation in his chest that he couldn’t will away no matter how hard he tried.

Ross shook his head and came closer to Liz, putting his arm around her shoulders. She startled, stammering over a word and turning her head to him, and Ross smiled at her reassuringly. Liz nodded, curling her lips just a bit, and then looked back at her parents.

“We were just talking about what we should do with her room.” said Mrs Chynoweth, stepping closer to Ross and taking him by the arm. “We kept everything intact in case she came back, but now…”

“It’s no good to have a tomb in the house, I say.” murmured Mr Chynoweth though his rough voice lacked its usual edge. “Merry had found her last home, let her rest in peace.”

Mrs Chynoweth looked like she was going to protest, so Liz intercepted softly.

“And I’m saying, we don’t have to make this decision right now.” she rested her head on Ross’ shoulder. “We’re all exhausted, physically and emotionally. We’ll deal with it when we’re ready.”

“I’m with Liz on this one.” nodded Ross. “Now is not the time to make any sort of decision.” 

Mr Chynoweth hummed in agreement, though Mrs Chynoweth didn’t look convinced, feverish gleam in her eyes a telltale sign of her being far from tranquility. She opened her mouth to say something, when a quiet hem behind their backs caught their attention.

Ross turned around first and was surprised to find himself face to face with none other than Jim Hawkins, standing there dressed in all black with a dark thigh-high cloak covering his shoulders (and looking somewhat familiar to Ross though he couldn’t place it).

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” said Jim, bowing his head slightly. “I just wanted to express my condolences. It is hard to lose people close to us. Especially, when they are so young and bright. I understand your grief and share it.”

“You must be Mr Hawkins.” murmured Mrs Chynoweth, her eyes watering at Jim’s words. “I’m sorry, I mean, thank you for your kind words, sir.”

“Please, call me Jim, Mrs Chynoweth.” the corners of his mouth raised slightly in a ghost of a polite smile.  “Mr Chynoweth” Jim bowed his head again, acknowledging the patriarch of the family. “I wish we would meet under different circumstances.”

Mr Chynoweth hummed again, nodding his head in agreement, his face darkening at once.

“And you must be Elizabeth.” Jim shifted his gaze to Liz, and Ross, who was quietly observing their interaction, saw surprise flickering on Jim’s face, his eyes widening a bit, though the next moment the expression of polite sympathy was back. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“I can’t fully imagine it myself.” sighed Liz, sniffing quietly. “It was hard when I didn’t know what happened to her, but at least I could pretend that she was happy somewhere far, far away. But now…” Liz took a deep breath, fighting a sob, and shook her head, trying to recover herself. “Where you close with your cousin, Jim?”

“Yes, we were close.” nodded Jim, pursing his lips. “My uncle Flint took me in after my parents died in a car accident. Bells and me grew up together, she was like a sister.” he chuckled lightly. “Annoying little sister whom I’ve adored since the day we’ve met.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss…” sighed Liz and Mrs Chynoweth echoed the sentiment, tears gleaming in her eyes. “It’s terrible, this whole story. Merry lived here, but what happened to your cousin, it’s still a mystery. Do you know why she came to Trenwith?”

“I’m in the dark just like you are.” Jim shrugged and then threw a quick glance on his wrist watch. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave. I should get back to the inn, I’m expecting a call from my uncle and since my phone has been acting up lately, I gave him the number of the stationary phone in my room.” he smiled apologetically. “It is a long walk back to town, so I better leave now.”

“Do you mean you walked all the way here?” Mrs Chynoweth raised her eyebrows. “Oh, poor lad, it’s almost three miles!” she shook her head with sympathy. “Ross, dear, maybe you could give our guest a ride?”

“Okay…” Ross agreed hesitantly and turned to Liz. “I’ll be right back, hon.”

“No, you should go home.” Liz raised on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek briefly. “I think I’ll stay here for the weekend. And you should get some rest, it was a crazy week for both of us.”

“Are you sure?” Ross frowned and Liz smiled in return, nodding. “Well, I’ll see you soon then.” 

He hugged Mrs Chynoweth and Liz, shook Mr Chynoweth’s hand and turned to Jim, who was standing nearby, neutral expression on his face.

“Come on, Mr Hawkins, I parked just outside.” Ross gestured to Jim to follow him.

“Lead the way,  _ Mr Poldark _ .” chuckled Jim, and suddenly Ross felt a blush creeping on his cheeks.

* * *  

The ride to  _ The Dunk Mouse _ was quiet. Ross was still a bit wired up after talking to Verity, her words flashing through his mind. He didn’t know if he should tell Jim about Verity’s theory that his cousin’s killer was not just somebody from Trenwith, but somebody close to the family. On one hand, Jim had a right to know; on the other, Ross still didn’t trust him and so far Jim hasn’t really done anything to change Ross’ mind.

Jim himself also wasn’t eager to talk, he set in the passenger seat, his temple resting on the chilly glass, his eyes on the road. The rays of setting sun were flooding the car, painting everything golden, and when Ross snuck a side glance at Jim, for a moment it seemed to him as if Jim turned golden himself.

By the time they got to the inn, it was almost dark outside (the sun always shone bright above Cornwall and set fast). Ross parked his jeep at its usual spot right across from the main entrance and rested his head on his hands holding the steering wheel. 

“Thank you for the ride.” Jim broke the silence after a few moments, making Ross jump a little. “Would you like to come over to my room? I’ve got excellent whiskey stashed in my trunk. We could drink to the memory of those who are no longer with us.”

Ross took a deep breath and shook his head slightly.

“It was one hell of a week. And I have a nasty feeling that it’s only going to get worse.” Ross mumbled without lifting his head. “I should go home.”

“Yeah, you should.” said Jim, and there was something in his voice that made Ross open his eyes and turn his head. He could barely make out Jim’s face in the heavy dusk, the dim light of the lantern hanging at the entrance of  _ The Drunk Mouse  _ illuminated his profile though shadows hid his features. For a moment Ross thought that Jim looked like something from a fairy tale book (something not too nice lurking in the dark).

“A drink does sound nice though.” Ross surprised himself by saying that. Jim chuckled in agreement and pushed the car door open.

* * *

Jim’s room was pretty much the same as when Ross came here the first time. Too tidy for his taste, but apparently Jim preferred it that way. He gestured for Ross to take the chair by the window and, after taking his cloak off and carefully putting it in the wardrobe, Jim dove in his trunk looking for promised whiskey.

Ross settled in the chair, taking off his suit jacket and crossing his legs. The room was surprisingly warm, despite the fact the the thermostat was still turned down to the lowest temperature. The heavy curtains were closed and Jim turned on the bedside lamp with the maiden and the baby goat, so the room was now flooded with the warm and not to bright light.

“Got it!” exclaimed Jim straightening up, a bottle with gleaming brown liquid in his left hand. “I don’t have any ice though.” he frowned, looking around the room absently.

“We could call Jankin to send some up.” suggested Ross, but Jim shook his head, wincing.

“I’d rather not. I don’t think he likes me.” Jim took two glasses from the bureau and poured some whiskey in them, then offered one to Ross. 

“I don’t think he likes anyone, to be honest.” chuckled Ross taking his glass and nodded gratefully. “He barely tolerates me and I’m the one paying him.”

“Ah, classic.” huffed Jim, he quickly got rid of his black vest and matching tie, and leaned on the bureau, glass in his hand. “Those little towns with their little people. Everyone is a character.”

“You sound like a typical London snob.” Ross rolled his eyes and lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” echoed Jim, clinking his glass to Ross’, and added after taking a generous sip. “And I’ve never said I was from London.”

“But…”” Ross tilted his head up to look at Jim curiously. “I thought…”

“I’ve spent a few years there, it’s true.” Jim took another sip from his glass, smiling. “But I’ve never said I was  _ from _ there. Though I am a snob. Occupational hazard.”

“You surely sound London.” huffed Ross, returning the smile. “Look London too.”

“I just know how important the first impression is.” shrugged Jim and then his smile turned wicked. “Speaking of...whatever. What did your lovely fiancee say when you asked her about the medallion?”

“What?” Ross frowned at the sudden change of subject, his shoulders tensing. “I didn’t.”

“Really?” Jim raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Why?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” shrugged Ross, his mood darkening. “It served its purpose, it helped Dwight identify Merry’s remains. And once this case is solved, Liz will get it back.” Ross sighed. “I doubt she will be wearing it, though. It was taken from her dead sister.”

Jim hummed in response but said nothing, and they finished their portions of whiskey in silence. Jim refilled their glasses, and Ross didn’t think to protest.

“When is your uncle going to call? I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Ross finally broke the silence, feeling warm and a bit sleepy after finishing his second drink. Jim chuckled and poured more whiskey.

“He isn’t.” Jim smirked around his glass. 

“You lied?” Ross raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“It’s called an excuse, Ross. I wanted to leave and Mrs Chynoweth was about to ask me to stay. So I made an excuse.” Jim grinned, obviously proud of himself. “The one that she would understand and wouldn’t see as an excuse at all.”

“Why not just decline politely and simply leave?” Ross frowned, puzzled. “That’s what Dwight did and nobody would hold it against him.”

“Ah, the good doctor.” Jim crooked one eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. “Missed his patients too much?”

“Dwight isn’t a big fan of funerals.” sighed Ross. “He takes every loss personally.”

“A good doctor indeed.” Jim nodded knowingly. “What does he think about the murder? Time of death? The murder weapon? Weather the killer was a righty or a lefty?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask.” Ross shook his head and then rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Do we really have to talk about the case? It feels like it’s the _ only  _ thing I’ve been talking about for almost a week now. Isn’t there anything else you’d rather do?” He tilted his head up again and looked at Jim pleadingly.

“Oh, plenty.” Jim smirked and suddenly, absolutely out of nowhere he leaned forward, his glass on the bureau now forgotten, and pressed his lips to Ross’.

* * *

Ten years ago, when Ross was about to leave for university, he was eighteen, madly in love and deliriously excited to see  _ the big world _ (namely London, though he did hope to get a semester abroad or at least travel a little after graduation). The day before he was supposed to drive with his father to London, Liz, who was moving with him though going to the different university, came over and said that they needed to talk.

It is a known fact that words  _ we need to talk _ never ever mean anything good. So Ross braced himself for inevitable and started silently going through the list of reasons to convince Liz not to break up with him, but his girlfriend surprised him more than anyone ever in his life.

“Ross.” said Liz sitting down next to him on the bed in his room, that was looking somewhat naked without the usual mess of Ross’ clothes, books, shoes and collectibles. “I think we should try open relationship while we’re at uni.” She took his hand in hers, gentle smile on her lips. “I thought about it a lot. I love you very much and I don’t want to lose you.”

“So you think we should both sleep around to keep our relationship?” frowned Ross, not for the first time thinking that girls sometimes really didn’t make any sense.

“That’s exactly what I think.” nodded Liz and kissed him sweetly.

Two parties and a few makeout sessions with the hottest guy Ross has ever met later, he started to think that Liz kind of had a point.

They really did both sleep around (strictly sex and never anything serious) and almost broke up twice (when sex seemed like the beginning of something serious), but eventually they chose each other and Ross has never ever regretted that decision.

Until now.

Jim’s lips were hot and his mouth tasted like whiskey and a bit like cough syrup, and Ross licked into its wetness, unable to stop himself. Jim caught Ross’ lower lip with his teeth and bit lightly, drawing a deep moan out of Ross. 

The sound made Jim pull away, wicked smirk on his lips, but before Ross could protest, Jim grabbed Ross by his turtleneck, crumpling it in his hand, and yanked him out the chair. 

“Jim.” breathed out Ross and tilted his head down, when Jim raised on his toes and kissed him again.

“We decided not to talk, remember?” murmured Jim between kisses, his hands pulling Ross’ turtleneck up.

“It’s a terrible idea…” Ross sighed but obediently raised his arms and helped Jim to get rid of the unnecessary right now layer of clothes. 

His suit pants were next, and Jim actually giggled when Ross almost fell down, trying to take his pants off and untie his shoes at the same time. Jim’s clothes was more compliant, and with each new layer being shed and a new patch of skin showing up Ross felt that his self-control was sleeping further and further away.

Jim was gorgeous. And looking at him, touching him, tasting his skin (salty and sweet, and utterly delicious) Ross felt a fire flaring up in his veins. This burning passion, when nothing else matters but the body in your arms, when the only reason to exist is to be able to draw out those wonderful noises out of your partner’s throat - all that was something not new to Ross, but entirely forgotten.

With Liz sex wasn’t like that. They had years and years to get to know each other, to explore and learn new things; years to surprise and impress; years to dull their passion to the level of barely even there, when sex stops being the moment of pleasure and unity, and becomes more of a lazy romp that easier to suffer through than to feel guilty avoiding. 

With Jim it was anything but. His mouth was greedy, his kisses were desperate, his hands wouldn’t stop touching and squeezing, scratching and pinching. His moans were driving Ross positively mad with desire. And when Ross finally got to Jim’s cock (beautiful and flushed and heavy, with a gleaming head and swollen veins), his mouth watered, and there wasn’t a single reason in his absolutely-not-working mind why he shouldn’t just swallow up this alluring length.

* * *  

Ross leaned over the basin in the small bathroom and splashed ice cold water in his face. It didn’t help much, and Ross heaved a sigh, taking Jim’s towel and rubbing his skin with it. 

Before, when they were in bed, Ross was too consumed with passion to think properly, too caught up in the novelty of the sensations, but now he sobered up enough to remember his fiancee. Who buried her murdered sister. Today. 

Ross groaned and could barely contain the desire to beat his head against the wall.

“If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you better do it here.” Jim’s voice reached Ross’ ears through the thin wall. Ross absently thought that he should do something about the acoustics of this old building. 

“I’m not doing anything.” Ross grumbled in return and opened the door, stepping back to the room.

Jim was still in bed though he did get under the duvet, a glass of whiskey in his one hand and his phone in another. When Ross closed the bathroom door behind him, Jim lifted his head and smirked, putting his phone away.

“It’s a shame.” he took a sip, his eyes not leaving Ross’. “The second round must be fun.”

“No more rounds.” Ross hurriedly got to the pile of clothes on the floor and tried to find his belongings. “It was a mistake.”

“Oh, sure, blame it on the alcohol.” Jim rolled his eyes and purposefully swung his glass. 

“No, I blame it all on you.” Ross snorted, finally finding his underwear and putting it on.

“It takes at least two people to have sex, Ross.” chuckled Jim, obviously undisturbed by what happened. “Or a human and an animal, though I strongly disapprove.”

“Ew.” Ross stopped mid stride and grimaced at Jim. “That’s disgusting.”

“Just saying.” Jim lifted his hands in peaceful gesture. “I didn’t have sex with you by myself. Nor was it against your will.”

“I know.” Ross sighed and heavily flopped down on the bad, bringing his hands to cover his face. “It’s just...Liz and I did everything to protect our relationship and I was still able to cheat on her. Everything was perfect- well, not  _ perfect  _ perfect, but good. And we’re supposed to get married because we chose each other.”

“Oh no, I’m not playing your therapist, Poldark, don’t even think about it.” winced Jim and threw a pillow at Ross.

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Ross groaned, ignoring the pillow that hit his back, and stood up, getting to the bureau and refilling his glass. “I was supposed to get over it. And I did, I got over it. Over  _ him _ . But now you had to happen. And it’s like I’m nineteen again, confused and horny.” Ross took a sip from his glass. Jim hummed suggestively on the bed but it fell on the deaf ear. “The main difference is that at nineteen I had a choice. Now I actually really don’t.”

“Oh, come on, stop being such a drama queen. You’re worse than your cousin.” Jim rolled his eyes again and stretched, drawing Ross’ gaze back to his body. “Besides, you’re marrying the wrong twin anyway.”

“Wha-?” Ross choked on air and turned to Jim so fast that his neck cricked.

Jim lips were stretched in the most mischievous smirk Ross has ever seen. It made Ross’ hands tremble and his solar plexus hurt with a sudden feeling of dread.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The seed of doubt is easily grown, especially if it falls into fertile soil. Even if at first it seems ridiculous and absurd, you can’t really root it up, just conceal deep within your mind, lock it away and hide under the cozy blanket of denile. But the seed of doubt grows, slowly and steadily, and soon it sends up tillers, enlacing all your thoughts; and there is nothing you can do but yield.

The moment Ross heard Jim say those odd words, he knew it was nonsense. He’s been with Liz most of his life and the mere idea that the woman he was living with now might not be who she said she was made him laugh loudly. If it sounded a bit hysterical to his own ears, Ross would never admit it to anyone, himself included.

After initial shock Ross did ask Jim what the hell he was talking about. Jim shrugged and rolled his eyes and made this grimace as if Ross was a child asking why the sky was blue, so Ross had to clasp his hands to stop himself from grabbing Jim’s shoulders and shaking him into explanation. Apparently, Jim saw something in Ross face because he sighed unnecessarily heavy and murmured  _ psychic, remember? _ Which, in turn, made Ross roll his eyes, pull on his clothes haphazardly and leave hurriedly, mumbling about idiots and psycos. 

But the damage was done.

And now, on early Monday morning, Ross was sitting in his jeep parked in front of Chynoweth family house with his hands on the steering wheel and his head on the headrest, trying to visualize this conversation where he was going to ask his fiancee whether she really is who she says she is (or she is a twin assuming the role of his beloved one). Ross has always had plenty of imagination but now there was this blankness in his mind.

The loud knock on the side of the car made him startle.

“Ross, dear!” Mrs Chynoweth smiled, when he lowered the window. “Are you alright? You’ve been sitting here for quite some time. I went to water my doronicum and I saw your car.” she looked concerned, her eyebrows knitted together and the corners of her mouth turned downward. “Why don’t you come in? Liz is about to get up. We can all have breakfast together.”

“Sure.” mumbled Ross and unbuckled his seat belt. He knew it wasn’t a good idea since he didn’t really have a plan, but something inside him craved the familiarity of a family breakfast, so he can sit and drink coffee, and have toasts with jam, talk to Mr Chynoweth about something meaningless like last night’s game and smile at Liz, and not,  _ not  _ dwell on some nonsense thrown at him by a man he knew nothing about (just the size of his cock and the taste of his lips but it hardly mattered right now).

Mrs Chynoweth looked delighted at his decision and hooked her arm through Ross’ the moment he closed the car door, and the simplicity of this gesture grounded him a little. 

* * *

“Ross!” exclaimed Liz when she came downstairs in her fluffy pink pajamas (obviously a piece of her teenage wardrobe, pants a tad too short and the jacket too tight at her chest, but it still looked lovely on her). “It’s wonderful that you are here. I have something I want to tell you.”

“Of course.” nodded Ross, putting aside his third toast with strawberry jam. He still wasn’t feeling quite right, but at least it didn’t seem like the world was about to collapse around him. Ross wiped his hands and took a quick sip of a lukewarm coffee before turning to patiently waiting Liz. “Right now?”

“Yes, come on, it can’t wait.” she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in the direction of the stairs leading to the second floor. 

Stumbling after her Ross noticed that she looked surprisingly content for someone who has just buried their twin sister. On the other hand, Ross would take happy Liz over distraught one any day. And besides, it’s not like Ross didn’t have other things to worry about.

Liz’ fingers felt familiar on his skin, so was her sidelong smile she casted him on their way upstairs. That tiny smile that made her eyes twinkle was the reason Ross fell in love with her in the first place. It didn’t stir anything in his chest anymore but it was familiar, it was  _ Liz _ , and he really needed anything he could get to restore his confidence in her right now.

Liz let his hand go only when they were in her childhood bedroom and she had to close the door behind them. The room was bright, cream white walls half covered in posters and photo collages, wooden floors with a fluffy IKEA rug near a queen size bed with the canopy and christmas lights on the reeling, a big white wardrobe in the corner and a table with an office chair near the window overlooking the backyard. It was so different from the room right across the hall, the one that now was a tomb of once amazing girl, who preferred dark colours, neon signs and spiked bracelets instead of pink pajamas and heart shaped throw pillows.

“You look sad.” Liz’ gentle voice brought Ross back to reality. She took his hand again though this time without any force. 

“Just thinking.” Ross shrugged interlacing their fingers. “What was it so urgent that couldn’t wait until I finish my toast?” he smiled softly, pushing aside all ridiculous thoughts of twins and impersonation. “It was  _ strawberry _ , hon. Nothing beats strawberry.”

“This might.” whispered Liz, leaning on his shoulder. She took a deep breath and put Ross’ hand on her stomach, beaming at him. “I’m pregnant.”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back and coincidentally sent Ross’ world into ruins once and for all.

* * *

When Ross was a child, he didn’t particularly like being in doctor’s office. Doctor Enys was a wonderful person and he really could find a key to anyone’s heart, but since Ross only visited him when he was sick or needed to have some very unpleasant procedure done, in times of peace he preferred to stay away from doctor’s office as far as possible.

Once Dwight became a permanent occupant of the little office on Daffodil Lane, Ross developed a habit of visiting it not only in the time of need but whenever he was bored or wanted a free advice (or when Dwight demanded his help), and therefore he could get there in any state of mind, including high level of intoxication or, like right now, deep shock.

“Ah, Ross! It’s been a while.” smiled Dwight, when Ross entered his study, a small room at the back, where Dwight usually spent his time when there were no patients for him to examine. “How is Liz? Sorry, I couldn’t stick around for the wake after the funerals. Not exactly my cup of tea, you know.” Dwight sighed and returned to the forms on his desk that he was filling. 

“Great, Liz is great.” mumbled Ross, all but collapsing on a small guest chair. “It’s all great.”

His tone caught Dwight’s attention, making him lift his head again and look at Ross properly.

“Are you alright, mate? You look disturbingly pale.” Dwight put aside his pan, rose to his feet and came to stand next to Ross, his hand on Ross’ forehead. “Fever? Nausea? Troubles concentrating?”   
“No, yes and yes.” nodded Ross and turned his head away from the touch. “But it’s not why I’m here.”

“What is it then?” frowned Dwight, leaning on his desk and regarding Ross carefully. “Something happened to Liz?”

“What? No. Yes. It doesn’t matter.” Ross muttered, rising to his fit, and started pacing frantically, the habit he got from his beloved cousin. “Where did you get the dental x-rays?” he stopped abruptly and turned to Dwight, biting his bottom lip. “The ones you used to identify Merry.”

“Liz sent it to me by the police request when Merry disappeared, she got it from their family dentist in Plymouth. Why?” Dwight’s frown deepened. “Ross, are you sure you’re ok?”

“You didn’t contact him?” Ross ask, ignoring Dwight’s question. “Please, it’s important.” he added, seeing the worry on his friend’s face. 

“No, I didn’t.” Dwight shook his head lightly, and Ross felt his heart sink. “The x-rays she gave me were usable. And she said their dentist was a very busy man…” he paused when Ross resumed the pacing. “What’s going on? You think, I’ve made a mistake?”

“No, not you.” Ross heaved a sigh and stopped, pressing the hills of his hands to his eyes. “And not a mistake.”

“Ross…” started Dwight, but was interrupted.

“Contact him. And check again.” said Ross brokenly, his heart beating in his throat. “Please, Dwight.” he sighed again. “And don’t tell anyone.  _ Anyone _ . Even Verity.”

“You think it’s not Merry.” it was a statement, not a question, and Ross cursed himself silently for forgetting in his baffled state of mind how smart his friend actually is. 

“Yes.” grumbled Ross and winced, when Dwight narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Who is it, Ross? Whom did we bury on Friday?” Dwight’s voice dropped an octave and now sounded strained. “Whose grave did I put white lilies on?”

Ross opened his mouth but found himself not able to say aloud his terrible guess.

“We’ll know once you check the x-rays again.” muttered Ross, turning away, unable to actually look at the paleness of Dwight’s face.

“I’m on it.” said Dwight after a stretched silence, standing up and getting to his computer. “I’ll call you as soon as I learn something.”

Ross nodded once and hurriedly left the doctor’s office, feeling too unnerved to sit and wait for God knows how long.

And that’s how he found himself creeping into room 8 of  _ The Drunk Mouse _ second Monday in a row.

* * *

The room was empty. This time for sure. 

Ross shivered and checked the thermostat, not surprised to see it set on the lowest temperature again. Apparently, that’s how Jim liked his bedroom: cold, gloomy and as impersonal as possible.

Ross took off his jacket and threw it on the chair, putting a bottle of brandy on the bureau. He looked around trying to locate glasses, but they were nowhere to be found. Ross shrugged and, after a short battle with the cork, he took a generous gulp straight from the bottle.

Brandy burnt his throat, and a few moments later Ross felt the warmth spreading through his body. With the bottle in his hand he came to stand by the window, suddenly mesmerized by the painfully familiar sight of the little street and a gap between houses right across the inn, through which he was able to see a big green meadow going downhill.

“Ah. Right on schedule.” Jim’s voice came from behind him, and Ross startled, surprised that he didn’t hear the sound of the lock being opened. “I really love the service they provide here. Rent a room and you’ll get the owner breaking in without any warning.” There was a clear amusement behind those words.

“I came bearing gifts.” chuckled Ross, raising the opened bottle, and turned around.

“Or a bribe?” Jim tilted his head to the side, his eyes never leaving Ross’. He looked gorgeous, sun-kissed and ruffled, his usual cold composure gone (he even wasn’t wearing a vest or a tie, top buttons of his dark grey shirt undone).

“A payment?” Ross quirked an eyebrow, barely containing a smile. 

It felt surreal, everything that’s been happening since that morning (in some other life, it seems) when he offered Dwight a ride to Mr Libby’s house. And Jim felt surreal too, though his warm fingers, when he came closer and took a bottle from Ross’ hand, were definitely not a fragment of imagination.

“For information, I hope.” huffed Jim and took a small sip. “Ah, drinking before lunch. This little town of yours seems better and better with every passing moment.”

Ross chuckled and shook his head, moving to sit on the side of the bed in an attempt to put some safe distance between them.

“Will you tell me?” he asked, looking at Jim pleadingly. “How did you know about Liz?”

“Do you have proof that it really are her remains lying on the cemetery?” Jim asked in return and took another sip.

“Not yet.” sighed Ross and grimaced. “But I do have my doubts now.”

“Troubles in paradise, Poldark?” Jim frowned in mock sympathy and leaned on the bureau.

“Something like that.” muttered Ross, rolling his eyes, and then crossed his arms. “So, will you?”

“Only if you share your doubts with me.” smirked Jim. “You know, show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“I thought we’ve done this dance already.” Ross narrowed his eyes, though corners of his mouth quirked up without his permission. He motioned for Jim to pass him the brandy.  

“That’s not what I meant but I love your train of thoughts.” chuckled Jim and handed him a bottle after taking another sip.

“ _ Jim _ .” Ross tried to sound stern (he had a few hundred employees, he knew how to demand, dominate and oppress), but it came out more like a plea and a laugh at the same time. 

It should’ve bothered Ross, this weird state his was in, feeling somewhere in between of punching the wall and laughing until his throat hurt. But probably, it was the normal reaction to a personal apocalypse, so he really couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Jim shook his head with a flirtatious smile and started to move away to get to his trunk, but then stopped abruptly, catching Ross’ gaze. 

He must’ve seen something there (Ross has heard so many times that his eyes always betrayed his mood, no matter what he was saying or how he was acting), because the next moment Jim heaved a sigh and collapsed on his bed, looking at Ross upwards.

“Fine.” muttered Jim and huffed, blowing a strand of blond hair off his face. This short word changed something in him, not visibly, of course, but it seemed as if he dimmed a little, smile gone from his face. And when he spoke next, even his voice sounded somehow different, lower and deeper, flirtatious note evaporated. “Shall I start from the beginning?”

“That would be lovely.” breathed Ross, mesmerized by this glimpse of a different Jim.

“I’ve met her before, this Liz of yours.” Jim paused for a moment, biting his lower lip thoughtfully. “She went by Elly back then. It was what, five years ago? Maybe six. I’m not really good with dates.” Jim chuckled but it sounded hollow. “I came to see Bells at her place. I think I wanted to borrow a car - we had to share it because Flint thought it would be too luxurious for us to have two cars, since we went to the same uni and lived nearby. Anyways, I knocked, but it seemed like nobody was home, so I used my key.” he rolled his eyes, a fond smile stretching his lips. “Well, let’s say, when I got to the kitchen, I knew why nobody answered the door. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that image out of my head.” Jim shivered in exaggerated disgust. “After they got dressed - and yelled at me, which was absolutely unnecessary, I was already punished for my carelessness - I was introduced to the girl, who stole Bells’ heart.”

“Liz.” nodded Ross, and Jim hummed in conformation.

“Elly, but yes, it was your Liz. We’ve hung out a lot for the next few months.” Jim chuckled again, this time genuine. “She was adorable, really. Sweet, caring, incredibly smart. I think even I had a crush on her and I’ve known that I was gay since kindergarten.” Jim paused, and this time it stretched, flooding the room with a heavy silence. “But one day she left. I came over and instead of a movie night with chips and beer got myself a nearly hysterical Bells and, eventually, a terrible hangover. Elly called me later, said she wasn’t ready to give up her life, was too scared to disappoint her parents and was still in love with her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, we had open relationships back then.” sighed Ross and took a sip of brandy. “She almost left me for a girl.”

“And you almost left her for a boy, as I take it?” flirtatious notes were back, but Jim still looked earnest, almost vulnerable.

“Yes.” Ross rolled his eyes, smirking, but then he frowned thoughtfully. “I didn’t know the girl’s name though. Didn’t want to. And Liz wasn’t eager to share either.”

“I didn’t know Elly was from Trenwith.” shrugged Jim and propped himself up on his elbow, motioning for Ross to pass him the bottle. “I suspected that Bells went to see her, when she disappeared, but I’ve never learnt the address. Just some random little town in the middle of nowhere.” Jim sighed and turned his attention to brandy.

“How  _ did _ you find out about Trenwith?” asked Ross, tilting his head curiously.

“I was going through Bells’ stuff, helping Flint to organize them. He finally decided to sell her apartment.” Jim handed Ross the bottle and wiped his mouth with his hand, laying back down on the bed. “It was in one of her diaries.”

“You read your dead cousin’s diaries?” grimaced Ross, making Jim laugh huskily.

“Yes. And a good thing I did, isn’t it?” Jim quirked an eyebrow and continued, when Ross didn’t answer, shaking his head instead. “I’ve been trying to find out anything about Elly since the day I came, but there is no woman going by that name in the whole town. Imagine my surprise when I basically bumped into her at the funeral.”

“You didn’t think she could be dead as well?” asked Ross and, feeling suddenly lightheaded, sank down on the bed next to Jim, who shifted immediately so his head was now lying on Ross’ stomach.

“I did think about it, since there were two sets of remains and it would actually make sense, but literally nobody has ever heard about Elly, so I decided to explore other possibilities.”

“Wait.” Ross frowned and rubbed his temples, trying to concentrate. “You’re basing you theory about Liz not being, well,  _ Liz _ on one encounter when she didn’t recognize you or  _ acted _ as if she didn’t recognize you?”

“Mostly.” nodded Jim, though a bit hesitant.

“It’s ridiculous!” Ross huffed, frustrated. “You can’t be serious.”

“But it’s the only theory that makes sense.” countered Jim, sitting up and turning to look at Ross. “Your Liz and my Bella were killed together for whatever reasons, and her twin sister assumed her place. Maybe, because she had a secret crush on you and saw an opportunity. Or it’s all about the money, which is much more plausible in this case. Her reasons are not important right now. You know what  _ is _ important, Ross?” Jim raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Ross just rolled his eyes, feeling utterly ridiculous. 

“That you’re an  _ idiot  _ who's crazy theories almost ruined my life?” retorted Ross impatiently.

“No,  _ Ross _ .” Jim shook his head, unimpressed by Ross’ sarcasm. “The important thing is that since  _ Merry  _ has been playing dress-up, pretending to be your one and only for almost two years now, she  _ knew  _ that Liz - or Elly, or whatever her name - was dead. Along with my dear cousin.”

“You’re saying, that Merry killed her sister and your cousin to get to me?” Ross sat up, mirroring Jim’s pose. “Do you hear yourself,  _ Sherlock _ ?”

Jim rolled his eyes and was about to answer, but in that exact moment there was a knock on the door. Ross frowned and looked at Jim questioningly.

“I’m not expecting anyone.” Jim winced and hopped of the bed, though he wasn’t in a hurry to open the door. 

There was another knock, this time louder, and then Dwight’s voice came through the thick wood.

“Ross, I know you’re in there! Come on, mate, open up!” Dwight sounded impatient, his voice lacking it’s usual wit. 

Ross sighed, and Jim unlocked the door, visibly relaxing. Dwight stormed inside, his hair sticking out and his face pale with feverish red patches on his cheekbones.

“Please, doctor, come in, make yourself at home.” muttered Jim sarcastically, when Dwight rushed up to Ross and grabbed a bottle from his hand, taking three big gulps from it.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr Hawkins.” retorted Dwight, now sounding more like himself, and turned to Ross. “You’re not answering your phone.”

“What?” Ross frowned and stood up to dig his phone out of the jacket. “Damn it, I forgot to charge it. It was one  _ hell _ of a morning.”

“It’s getting better, my friend.” sighed Dwight and sunk into the chair, the brandy still safe in his hands. 

“Wait, how did you know I was here?” Ross raised his eyebrows, looking at Dwight curiously.

“When I couldn't reach you, I called Jankin. Everyone knows you come here for lunch almost every day.” shrugged Dwight and took another gulp. “Damn, it’s good stuff.”   
“And it’s mine, thank you very much.” snapped Jim and snatched the bottle away from Dwight, making Ross chuckle despite his sudden nervousness. 

“Did you get the x-rays?” asked Ross, unable to wait any longer. Dwight raised his eyebrows and tried to nod at Jim discreetly, making some weird grimace. Ross narrowed his eyes questioningly, but quickly realized what Dwight was trying to say and heaved a sigh. “It’s ok, Jim knows.”

“Well, suit yourself.” shrugged Dwight and then sighed, hesitating. “I did get the x-rays.”

“And?” Ross gritted his teeth, irritated by Dwight’s deliberation.

“And.” Dwight took a deep breath, eyeing the bottle in Jim’s hands longingly. “It’s not Merry in that grave, alright.”

“It’s Liz.” breathed Ross, feeling the faded from his encounter with Jim dread crawling back.

“Yes.” nodded Dwight, not looking at Ross. “It’s Liz.”

The heavy silence settled in the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, everyone! i'm so sorry for the delay, but yay, the next chapter is finally here. just one more to go aaaand we'll be done. this one is a huge one and the next one will be tiny (ish). so yeah, enjoy!

**Chapter 6**

Ever since they were children, Ross prided himself on being the sensible one where Verity was that little clumsy and overly energetic ball of fluff, braids, big sparkling eyes and recklessness. Whenever their mothers would organize a play date for them, bringing those two to the playground, Verity would be the one to turn everything upside down. She would giggle and speak in stage whisper, and look suspicious, and after just a few moments other children would gather around her so she could fill them in on her brilliant idea of a game, which always ended badly (with tears, broken toys and sometimes full scale riots, but it never stopped her from trying again and again to get to the Neverland or Narnia, to catch a witch or to help dwarves get their kingdom back from a nasty dragon). Of course, Ross would never do something so foolish.

Ross would cross his little arms on his little chest, tilt his head disdainfully and climb on a bench, his little feet swinging in the air, so he could enjoy the show of Verity getting in trouble again (and he would even shake his head exactly like his Grandpa, wrinkling his little nose and bringing together his little eyebrows). And that tactic, of course, always worked, and Verity would fall down or bump into something (or sneak out while her mum was busy chatting with other mothers), and Ross would laugh and feel utterly superior and smart, and on their way back home his mother would surely buy him something sweet and let him eat it before dinner because he was such a well-behaved boy.

All in all, Ross had every right to feel hesitant about the idea of bringing their findings to Verity, despite the fact that she was the representative of authority in that crazy place that once was called Trenwith (but now seemed to Ross more like a parallel universe where he really didn’t want to be anymore). Jim’s skepticism didn’t help either, but Dwight insisted on telling Verity the truth and even threatened to do so himself, leaving Ross no choice but to concede.

And that’s how all three of them (Ross, who was right in the middle of things; Dwight, who was  the voice of reason; and Jim, who claimed to be bored enough to honor the Police Station with his presence despite his many times voiced protest against the idea) found themselves in the little work kitchen at the station with the door locked and the air flooded with the smell of cheap coffee that actually made Jim sneeze, twice.

“Wow.” muttered Verity after a very long pause that she needed, apparently, to digest the news. “I mean... _ wow _ .”

Ross nodded solemnly and took a sip of coffee from a paper cup, feeling how Jim, who was leaning next to him on the counter, shivered in silent disgust.

“We should…” Verity jerked forward, squeezing her own paper cup (luckily, it was empty) but then stopped abruptly and bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “Actually, I believe, we really should think this through.”

That statement made Ross raise his eyebrows in surprise, and judging by Dwight’s reaction, he didn’t expect it either.

“I mean, we can’t really prove anything.” continued Verity, leaning on the window sill, her arms crossed and her leg tapping a ragged rhythm. “Yeah, we now know that Liz is dead and Merry has been impersonating her for almost two years…” she tilted her head to the side, looking at Ross curiously. “By the way, how exactly is it possible, coz? How could she fool  _ you _ of all people?” Verity chuckled despite the grimness of their situation. “Aren’t you suppose to know  _ everything _ about Liz? You’ve been together for most of your lives.” 

“Well, Merry obviously knew Liz better, then I did.” mumbled Ross, averting his gaze. “I mean, her behavior did change a little, but I blamed it on the stress of her sister’s disappearance. And my parents died just before that, so I was really out of it for a while.” he sighed. “And when I came round, those little changes seemed already too familiar to pay them any attention.”

“Right…” Verity frowned skeptically but didn’t pressure. “Anyways. We know that Liz is actually Merry, but that’s about it. Yes.” she raised her hand to stop Dwight from speaking. “I agree that it’s very suspicious and this little game of hers is definitely connected to the murder. But all we have now is a case of stolen identity, and if I tell her that she was discovered, we will never get any information about the murder.” Verity rubbed her temples with her fingers, closing her eyes. “We need something to convince her to tell us what happened. Maybe it was a planned assassination, maybe it was an accident - whatever it was, Merry is now our best chance to learn the truth.”

Ross sighed and finished his coffee in one gulp. Verity was right, of course, but he knew Merry well enough (even before this whole disappearance act) to say that she wouldn’t surrender information that easily. Merry pretended for almost two years to be his Liz, there was little hope that she would stop now. 

The thought of Liz stung, not an overwhelming pain but more of a dull ache somewhere in his solar plexus. Ross shook his head, trying to turn his attention back to the present. He didn’t have a chance to fully acknowledge that Liz,  _ his Liz _ was now gone, but right now was not the time.

“Actually, I might be of help.” broke the heavy silence Jim, speaking for the first time since they came in and he threw at Verity a rather intricate statement that surely sounded like an insult but apparently was supposed to be a compliment. 

“How exactly can  _ you _ help the investigation, Mr Hawkins?” Verity quirked an eyebrow skeptically.

“Jim, please.” Jim smiled charmingly and stepped forward, his back straight and his head tilted up. “I have a perfect solution for our problem, Verity. May I call you Verity?”

“You definitely may not, but do go on.” huffed Verity, rolling her eyes, though Ross noticed the corners of her mouth quivering up.

“Excellent.” Jim didn’t miss a beat. “So, my solution. It’s simple, elegant and won’t raise any suspicion from Merry or her accomplice.”

“Accomplice?” interrupted Dwight, sounding anxious. “There is an accomplice?”

“Of course there is an accomplice, Doctor, do keep up.” Jim shook his head in mock disapproval.

“What do you propose,  _ Mr Hawkins _ ?” asked Verity, sensibly ignoring Jim’s words about accomplice, though Ross could see that her face darkened at the idea. 

“Well, Detective, isn’t it obvious?” Jim raised his eyebrows and batted his eyelashes, making everyone in the room chuckle involuntarily. “We should hold a spiritualistic seance.”

And hearing that, Ross covered his face with both hands, groaning pathetically.

* * *

Ross, of course, was skeptical about Jim’s proposal (because it was ridiculous), but Verity got unexpectedly inspired by the whole thing and even agreed to let Jim handle it how he saw fit, promising him as little interference from the police as she could provide (which sounded suspicious even to Ross’ ears but Jim just smiled charmingly and  _ bowed _ his head to Verity, acting as if everything was perfectly fine). Dwight also seemed more intrigued then appalled to the idea, and Ross had to remind himself that Trenwith  _ was _ actually a small town where even the smartest people could be smitten by the promise of a supernatural show. Not that Ross approved, of course.

And that’s how he found himself sitting on Jim’s bed (again), drinking brandy from the bottle (again) and intently observing Jim moving around the room and packing some of his belongings in a leather traveling bag.

“You’re not serious about this whole ghost business, are you?” finally asked Ross with a forced chuckle. “I mean, they’re not real, everyone knows that.”

“Spirits, Ross, not ghosts. We don’t want  _ those _ sneaking around.” Jim shook his head with a mock sternness and then laughed tipping his head back, the line of his exposed throat surprisingly captivating. “Oh, do relax. It’s a great plan and you know it.”

“Well, actually I don’t.” muttered Ross, averting his gaze and trying to find something worth looking at behind the window. “What exactly  _ is _ your plan?” 

“I told you, a magician never reveals his secrets.” Jim winked at Ross mischievously and zipped his back with a loud buzz. “I’ll be back in three days time and we will hold the seance. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

“Why do you need to go away?” asked Ross, turning back to Jim and narrowing his eyes.

“I need the proper equipment. Spirits can be picky bastards sometimes, and we can’t afford a failure.” winked Jim and shrugged on his thigh-high cloak. 

“And what am I supposed to do until you get back?” that question surprised Ross himself and he hurriedly tried to amend that odd behavior. “I mean, I can’t go home, Merry will be there. And if I face her now, I’ll surely give myself away.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Jim stepped closer to Ross, his blue eyes serious for the first time since Ross met him. “You mourn. You cry, remembering your life with Liz. You howl into your pillow thinking of her touches, her laugh, the sound of her voice. This smile you fell in love with. That time you were sick and had a fever, and she fed you with a spoon and put her icy fingers on your forehead, so you could fall asleep.” Jim’s voice was gentle, yet so strong that Ross felt his heart pick up the speed. “You lock yourself in one of your resorts, maybe even in that room, where you took her for your first official getaway as a couple. You know, the one with a balcony overlooking the ocean and that beautiful garden with roses right underneath it. You trash the place, you yell and sob, and drink yourself into oblivion.”

“How do you know about the room and the roses?” whispered Ross unable to take his eyes off Jim’s face. 

Jim chuckled softly, took another step, now standing between Ross’ legs, tucked a stray black lock behind Ross’ ear.

“I  _ know _ things. That’s my job, remember?” Jim leaned forward, his lips hovering over Ross’. “You do all that for three days while I’m gone. Because when I get back, you won’t have time for that ever again.”

Ross drew in breath, feeling suddenly drunk though he couldn’t tell on what exactly - brandy or Jim’s proximity.

“Don’t wait up.” whispered Jim with a grin and the next moment he was gone, the door closing with a muffled bang behind him. 

Ross let out a shattered breath. The room was quiet without Jim in it, the sun almost dipped below horizon, and the shadows of the evening were crawling inside. Ross shook his head and took another sip of brandy, tasting nothing but ash. It was going to be long three days.

* * *

Time passed, and Ross ended up doing exactly what Jim told him, though he tried very hard not to. At first he wanted to be strong and play nonchalant, but then he came home to Liz, no, to  _ Merry  _ dressed in  _ Liz’ _ favorite pajamas cooking  _ Liz’ _ favorite salad and singing along to  _ Liz’ _ favorite song, and Ross just couldn’t stand to be around her for another moment. So he made an excuse and ran off, and locked himself in that room in the  _ Crown Resort & Spa _ and got so spectacularly drunk that the chambermaid, who didn’t recognize him, actually called the police on him. 

So, all in all, the three days of Jim being away and Verity doing nothing (and therefore Ross having too much time on his hands and not enough mind to actually work), dragged on impossibly slowly. But, as everything else in this world, they came to an end with Jim banging on his door on the morning of day four, his clothes in perfect order and a charming smile on his lips.

“I didn’t expect you to actually take my advice to heart.” chuckled Jim, regarding how Ross (with a terrible hangover) was trying to get himself back together and out of the bed, for a change. “Who knew you could be so obedient.”

“Sod off.” mumbled Ross and closed the door to the bathroom with a loud bang. 

Jim was too damn cheerful, and Ross wasn’t ready to deal with him with a hangover and without coffee, he was not a saint.

“Where is your precious equipment?” asked Ross, when he came back from the bathroom, his hair a mess of wet curls, feeling somewhat refreshed.

Jim was sitting on the unmade bed with the phone in his hands. Ross was surprised how much calmer he felt upon just being in the same room as Jim.

“In  _ The Mouse _ , of course.” shrugged Jim, eyes glued to his phone.

“We should get going then.” sighed Ross, thinking about breakfast being served downstairs, with freshly baked croissants and coffee and homemade confiture, and went to pick up his shirt, lying forgotten on the floor. “Do you need my help to set it up or something?”

“No, actually, I don’t.” muttered Jim and set his phone aside, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Why did you come then?” frowned Ross and the next moment he choked on air, because Jim stood up lazily and started unbuttoning his coat.

“We have some time to kill and you are so conveniently have a room with a bed.” Jim’s smirk grew bigger as he was shrugging off his coat and starting on the buttons of the vest.

“Jim, I don’t think…” Ross trailed off, losing his train of thoughts the moment Jim got rid of his shirt. 

“Good, keep it up.” chuckled Jim and rested his hand on the waistband of his pants. “Though  _ some _ help would be appreciated.” And Ross was by his side the next second, unzipping his pants and covering his lips with his own.

Everything after that was a mess, though a beautiful mess indeed. Ross felt that he could get drunk on the taste of Jim’s skin alone, and those gorgeous noises Jim was making, when Ross took his length in his mouth in one slow motion, were worth every trouble possible. And then, when Ross had three of his fingers buried deep in Jim and his own cock leaking and almost hurting with how aroused he felt - there was this one moment when Ross suddenly realized that his life (the one he cherished so much and worked so hard to have) was about to change once and for all. And then, of course, Jim moaned his name and licked into his mouth, and Ross forgot how thinking worked for the next half an hour at least.

* * *

Ever since he was a child, Ross wasn’t a big fan of supernatural. Of course, he grew up on  _ Harry Potter _ and  _ The Chronicles of Narnia _ , and  _ Buffy _ was huge (though his parents always disapproved of him watching something so  _ dramatic _ and  _ terrifying for someone your age, Ross).  _ But all those witches, werewolves, vampires and ghosts were nowhere near his radar since he turned ten. And even though Liz once made him sit and binge watch  _ Supernaturals _ just so he would give this whole otherworldly affair another chance, Ross gave up after season five and confidently proclaimed himself a true skeptic and it was all about  _ Kitchen  _ _Nightmares_  and non-fictional biographies of great people for him after that.

And now Ross was standing on the porch of  _ The Drunk Mouse  _ mentally preparing himself to participate in a  _ spiritual seance  _ in hopes of catching the killer of his now dead girlfriend. Even in his own head this statement sounded ridiculous, but there was literally nothing Ross could do about it.

It was almost nightfall, though one could still see last traces of orange on the clear dark sky. The sun went under, but the moon was young and barely visible and the Evening Star was hanging low. The air was suddenly chilly for the middle of May, and Ross had to turn up the collar of his leather jacket even for such a short stroll between his jeep and the door of the inn.

Jim left him a few hours ago after they grew too exhausted from reacquainting themselves with each other’s bodies. They had sex and they talked, and laughed, and shared late breakfast (and then lunch), and Ross felt somehow renewed and able to breathe properly for the first time since he saw Liz’ medallion in an evidence bag in Superintendent’s office. 

But then Jim untangled their limbs, took a quick shower and announced, that he was going to head back and prepare his equipment for the upcoming seance.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” frowned Ross, still lying naked and for the first time since Jim’s arrival feeling exposed.

“Don’t you trust me?” chuckled Jim, tying a perfect full Windsor knot without looking in the mirror (and making Ross actually consider for a moment that Jim  _ could _ possess some supernatural powers). 

“Not really.” grumbled Rossб rolling his eyesб and got himself another chuckle for his troubles.

“Good.” Jim shrugged on his coat and buttoned it up quickly, then went around the bed, pecked Ross on the cheek and whispered. “See you at 9pm sharp. You don’t want to be late,  _ trust me _ .”

And with that he was gone before Ross could come up with any dignified answer. 

So now Ross stood there not exactly sure what to do. His smartwatch vibrated silently, announcing that it was indeed 9pm already, and Ross almost jumped out of his skin. As if waiting for the clue, the cabinet clock, that were part of the tavern interior from the day one, started booming out.

Ross breathed in. Out. And not letting himself fret any longer, he turned the handle and pushed the heavy door.

* * *

The dining hall was dim - dimmer, than usual, and Ross had to pause for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the new lightning. All the lamps were off and the room was illuminated by a half a dozen candles placed around a large round table covered with a thick black cloth. That table was also something new, and Ross frowned in confusion, noticing that usual tables and chairs were nowhere to be seen. 

“Your invitation, sir.” a creaky voice came from behind him and Ross turned quickly, raising his eyebrows when he saw Jankin dressed in the most peculiar manner (in a tailcoat and a cylinder) holding a silver tray in his hands. 

“I beg your pardon?” Ross chuckled involuntarily, but Jankin didn’t look amused at the slightest. “What’s going on here?”

“Master Jim instructed me not to let in anyone without an invitation.” answered Jankin and smirked unnecessarily smugly. “It is a private party.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” sighed Ross, rolling his eyes, and crossed his arms. “I don’t have an invitation, but I was invited. And after all, it is  _ my _ property and the last time I checked you were working for me, not  _ master Jim _ .”

“Your left pocket.” Jim’s voice was almost a whisper in his ear, and Ross shivered, turning quickly. Jim stood before him, dressed also peculiarly but in a familiar now fashion. He smirked at Ross and nodded. “Go on, check it.”

Ross shook his head but dove his hand into said pocket and was surprised to feel corners of something made of cardboard. He frowned again and pulled the object out. It was a rectangular card, very much like the one Jim gave him when they first officially met, only bigger. One side of it was covered in black velvet, on the other side was just an image of Jack of Hearts.

“How did you…?” Ross looked at Jim questioningly, knowing for sure that Jim couldn’t put the card there earlier because, after they’ve spent their time in the  _ Crown Resort _ , he went straight home and changed before coming here.

“Magic.” smirked Jim and tilted his head. “Shall we begin? We are on a tight schedule.”

Ross nodded, still a bit dumbfounded, and followed Jim to the table. It took him a few moments to realize, that there were actually other people in the room, standing along the walls, their voices so low that Ross easily missed them entirely.

“My friends!” Jim exclaimed, stopping near the table and lifting his hands. The hum of voices ceased immediately. “Now, when everyone is here, we can proceed.”

Jim gestured to the table where, Ross noticed, were placed little white notes with names, and everyone started moving around, looking for their seat. Ross ended up across from Merry with Mrs Chynoweth on his right and Jim on his left. Next to Jim sat Verity, then Mr Chynoweth, Merry, Dwight and Francis. They all looked equally intrigued and anxious, and were dressed in the most unusual manner, apparently trying to “set the mood”, and Ross sighed internally, feeling grateful that nobody brought a monocle or a hand fan (he was way too sober to roleplay Penny Dreadful anytime soon). 

“My friends, there is one last thing I need you to do.” Jim’s voice startled Ross out of his thoughts. “As I said earlier, all your phones must be off. Also, I’d like you to take off all your rings, watches and anything else from your hands.” he nodded, and Jankin came into the light with another empty silver tray in his hands.

Everyone looked at one another hesitantly, but did as Jim asked, including Ross, who wasn’t particularly happy to part with his favorite watch, thought seeing Merry taking off his grandmother’s ring was indeed satisfactorily. 

After everyone discarded their accessories and freed their hands, Jankin disappeared into the darkness with the tray, and Jim cleared his throat, prepared to speak again.

“Please, join hands now.” Jim waited until his request was satisfied (Ross gasped silently, when Jim’s hand, surprisingly cold but strong, grabbed his) and continued, his voice altering subtly, becoming deeper and hoarser. “I’m asking all in attendance to suspend your disbelief. And imagine your minds floating in the darkness of time.” Jim paused and, after giving each of his guests a heavy look, he closed his eyes. Ross huffed silently but followed his lead. 

“Let your imaginations be liberated. And roam with me.” On the last words Jim’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. “There, to the realm of the dead where spirits walk free of the judgment and skepticism of the living.” Jim paused again, but this time the silence was full of promises and expectations. The sudden gust of wind flew through the room making the flame of candles shudder. Jim gasped loudly and chanted, swaying from side to side. “Meredith Chynoweth,  _ invitamus te venire. Veni ad nos _ , Meredith!  _ Veni ad nos _ !”

There was a crush of thunder, that made everyone at the table yelp and gasp, and then another gust of wind flew through the room, almost putting out the light. Ross opened his eyes and saw others looking startled and some even being paler than usual. Ross took a deep breath, trying to calm his throbbing heart, and turned to look at Jim, who also opened his eyes and was regarding the room expectingly. For a few moments there were no more sounds, the heavy silence flooding the room, but then, then Ross heard a voice, that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“ _ Who are you, sorcerer? What business do you have disturbing the dead _ ?” Ross knew that voice, knew it as long as he knew himself. That voice read him bedtime stories and murmured him endearments when he would bruise his knees or burn his fingers. That voice gave him lectures when he would get into a fight or fail his tests. That voice he heard in his nightmares that still haunted him sometimes.

“Mother?” whispered Ross and felt Jim’s hand squeeze his own.

“My name is Jim and I’m looking for Meredith.” said Jim, his voice taking an authoritative turn. “And I know for sure you are not her. Name yourself, spirit, or leave at once.”

“ _ No need to be harsh, sorcerer _ .” there was amusement in the spirit’s voice, and Ross felt his heart melt at the familiar sound. “ _ The friend of my son is not an enemy of mine. But you are wasting your time, sorcerer Jim, the one you’re looking for is not with us. _ ”

There was a collective gasp, but Ross ignored it, listening to his mother’s voice greedily.

“It’s not possible.” frowned Jim, sounding lost. “She’s been dead for almost two years now. And she was buried a week ago. She’s had enough time to pass the veil between the world of the living and the realm of dead. You’re lying, spirit.”

“ _ I have no need to lie, sorcerer _ .” Ross could tell that she was now annoyed, and he felt familiar desire to sink deeper into his chair. “ _ The one you are looking for is alive and well. Her sister, on the other hand, is with us. Tell my son, I’m very sorry for his loss. _ ”

“What?” Ross felt Mrs Chynoweth squeeze his hand so hard, that for a second he was sure she would break it. “I don’t understand…”

“But if Meredith is alive and Elizabeth is dead, it means…” Jim trailed off, his eyes landing on Merry, who grew paler and paler by the second. Everyone else followed his lead and were looking at her now too. 

“ _ Yes, sorcerer, think. Think hard to put all the pieces together. _ ” the spirit now sounded louder, angrier, and the candle flames started flickering in turns. “ _ One sister is dead, the other alive, but not the one you think. You can’t pretend to be your sister if you don’t know for sure that she won’t waltz back into your life and ruin your game. Ask her, sorcerer, who is responsible? Who crushed the skull of my daughter-to-be? Whose hands are covered in blood? _ ” the spirit was now almost howling and the temperature in the room dropped significantly. “ _ Is it her? Is she the one who swang the weapon? Is she the Cain of the family? _ ” 

Mrs Chynoweth was sobbing chokingly, everyone else were pale, their eyes terrified and their hands shaking.

_ “Ask her, sorcerer!”  _ the spirit refused to let up, grumbling and shrieking at the same time. _ “This traitor, this murderer! Ask her whose fault was that! _ ”

“It was me!” suddenly yelled Francis, and silence fell over the room. The wind ceased and the spirit’s voice faded. All eyes turned to Francis now, and even Mrs Chynoweth stopped sobbing, shocked.

Francis was panting, his eyes wide and a feverish blush on his cheeks.

“It was me.” he repeated quieter and took a shuddered breath, hanging his head. 

“Francis, no!” Merry’s whisper was deafening in the newly formed silence. 

“I’m sorry, love, but it’s time to tell the truth.” muttered Francis, glancing quickly at Merry and dropping his gaze again. 

“Speak then.” prodded Jim, his voice once again stern. “Don’t anger the spirits.”

“It was an accident!” tried to intervene Merry, but Jim lifted his hand, making her fall silent.

Francis took another deep breath and began his story.

“It really was an accident, I must say. Though it doesn’t change what happened. What I’ve done.” his voice was even, almost dull, and his head hang low. “It happened on the 7th of August 2013. Merry and I have been seeing each other for a while and on the previous day we’ve finally decided that we both believed it to be something special, something serious. Our financial situation was rather pitiful with my father leaving me nothing but debts after his death and Merry having her own troubles. We knew that we had no chances of starting our own family any time soon but we believed we would manage somehow.” Francis sighed and continued. “Anyway, that day I was supposed to help Merry with the gardening. She isn’t a fan, as you all know, but her mother asked her to plant a new flowerbed of peonies. So, I came over but it looked like nobody was home. I went to the basement to grab a shovel and then went to look for Merry. It was obvious that her parents were out and Liz wasn’t living with them for over a year.” he paused squeezing his eyes. “Oh, what would I give to change what happened next…” Francis shook his head and resumed the narrative. “I went upstairs to the Red Drawingroom, the one Merry loved so much. She would sometimes spend hours there, playing piano or reading. And she could often lose the track of time. I thought, that’s what happened. I went there and I saw two figures on the balcony. I have to say, it’s an old balcony and the railing there is very low. Mrs Chynoweth was talking about renovating it, making it safer but…” he shrugged halfheartedly and continued. “They were kissing. Not just kissing, legitimately making out. They were so consumed with each other that they didn’t hear me coming. And my world shattered into pieces that moment. I saw the love of my life, the one I wanted to grow old with, kissing another person. And not just a person - a woman. It...it ruined me. That moment I saw red, and there was a shovel in my hands so I swang it, landing it on their heads. And they fell, over the railing and down, to the cobblestone driveway. They didn’t even make a sound.” Francis winced. “I didn’t have time to process what happened when I heard a shriek behind me. I turned around, and there she was, my Merry, with her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth.”

“They came to visit that morning.” Merry suddenly spoke up. “Liz and her friend Bella. Liz said it was the girl from her uni days, she was driving through Cornwall and they met by accident. Liz was holding her hand and looked happy, for the first time in a long, long while. I suspected that it might’ve been someone special, someone she wasn’t ready to tell me about just yet.” Merry sighed. “They went upstairs and I started making tea. I knew that Francis was coming by but I couldn’t imagine it would be a problem…”

“What happened next?” asked Jim calmly.

“We didn’t have much time, my parents could come back any moment.” Merry shifted her gaze to look at Francis and smiled sadly. “But I knew I couldn’t let him go to jail. I love him, with all my heart.” she lowered her eyes to the table. “I offered to stage her disappearance. It was easy, I had access to everything in the house. And with her friend it was even easier, nobody knew she was here.”

“But  _ Liz _ didn’t disappear,  _ Merry  _ did.” remarked Jim, narrowing his eyes.

“It was also my idea.” nodded Merry hesitantly and glanced at Ross quickly. “I needed money.  _ We  _ needed money, and according to Liz her engagement to Ross was basically a done deal. I thought he would propose any moment now, I would accept it, we would get married and then, a year or so after we would get a divorce. I’d have enough money for me and Francis to move to the other side of the world and start a new life.” she winced annoyed. “Who knew it would be another two years until he popped the question.”

“You’re a terrible person and I hope you burn in Hell.” Ross heard himself saying. He felt empty and very, very tired all of a sudden. “The good thing, you won’t be able to pin the baby on me.”

“How can you be so sure?” frowned Merry, the tenderness in her eyes, that Ross was so used to seeing every day, now gone completely.

“That day, when I discovered the remains of your sister and Bella? Dwight had some news for me.” Ross chuckled humorlessly. “I can’t have children. It’s genetic condition.”

And at that Ross stood up abruptly and stormed out of the inn, not looking back when he heard Verity taking out her handcuffs and reading the Right to Silence.

* * *

It was almost dawn when Ross finally got back home. He’s been driving around aimlessly the whole night, his head empty and his soul aching. It was all too much: Merry and her confessions, Francis with the terror in his eyes, his mother’s voice still so loud in his ears. His life was legitimately in ruins now, and he didn’t have enough energy to even begin thinking about the future.

Ross parked his jeep on its usual spot and went to the house. Nampara looked abandoned with its windows bleeding black and just the muffled sound of the ocean rumbling in the distance. Ross took a deep breath and stepped inside. 

It was chilly, so he postponed taking off his jacket and instead decided to make some tea, all in all, that’s what his mother always did whenever she was feeling stressed. The kettle boiled pretty quickly and a few moments later Ross settled down in his father’s big armchair in the living room with a mug of hot mint tea. He was about to take the first sip when he heard a muffled sound of the car. And a couple minutes later there was a knock at the door.

“Jim, now is  _ so _ not the time!” rumbled Ross, but stood up nevertheless and went to open the door. To his surprise it was Verity who was standing on his porch, her face pale with exhaustion and a paper folder in her hands.

“Oh, you haven’t gone to bed yet.” she even sounded exhausted, though Ross still could see a dim fire in her eyes. “One hell of a night, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ross chuckled humorlessly and gesture for her to come in. “Tea? I’ve just made a new pot.”

“No, thanks, I won’t stay long.” Verity shook her head and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Ross, I really am. I wish I could let it go...I mean, he helped us, he helped a lot. He basically cracked the case, made the killers confess in front of all these people. Case closed, thanks to Hawkins.” she hesitated but then tilted her head up stubbornly. “But you need to know what I found.”

“Oh no, please, no more surprises.” groaned Ross covering his face with his hands. “Ver, I’m so tired of all this.  _ Please _ , I can’t take it anymore.”

“I hope it’s the last one, coz.” Verity put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it sympathetically. “But you  _ need _ to know this. While Hawkins was preparing this whole thing with the seance, I did some digging. I was only curious and now I wish I wasn’t but...Well.” she gently pulled Ross’ hands from his face and looked into his eyes, a sad smile on her lips. “You need to know that the man who calls himself Jim Hawkins is a fake. He’s never went to Cambridge and he isn’t anyhow related to Isabella Flint. He is not who he says he is.”

“Damn it, Ver.” choked out Ross feeling his knees going weak and Verity’s hand catching him before he hit the ground.

“I’m really sorry, Ross.” she helped him get to the sofa in the living room. “I’ve brought all the information on him that I’ve been able to find so far. You should read it.”

“Are you going to investigate?” asked Ross after a few shallow breaths and looked at Verity pleadingly.

“No, I’m not. He did  _ my _ job and helped us with the murder. And if he leaves the town in the next two days, I’ll let it slide. But you should be careful, dear.” Verity helped him take off the jacked and put a pillow under his head. “And now you should rest, Ross. I’ll leave the folder here.”

“Please, stay.” murmured Ross, grabbing her hand and Verity smiled at him, this time genuinely.

“Sure thing, coz.” she pulled off her keds and her coat and settled down next to him, her fingers running through his grown out hair. 

Despite everything that happened it took Ross less than a minute to finally fall asleep.


End file.
